Consummation
by dank02
Summary: After Katniss and Peeta take the next step in their relationship they realize that being free from the Capital doesn't mean they'll get their happily ever after. ***Still a work in progress!***
1. Consummation

_This is my first post. Your reviews are greatly appreciated. _

_I do not own any part of The Hunger Games or any content related to the characters or stories created by Suzanne Collins. This following story is written for my own enjoyment._

* * *

Eventually, one night, it happens. I'm nuzzled warmly against his chest, unable to sleep. I can tell by his uneven breaths that sleep is eluding him as well. I slip my hand under the back of his shirt and rub my finger tips across his midsection. This isn't the first time I've done this so it doesn't surprise me when Peeta let's out a sigh of satisfaction. He welcomes any physical affection I initiate.

It's been months since our return and this is like any other night. Falling asleep in each other's arms is the only way we can sleep. Our arms are a fortress of safety and love. I steel a kiss on his exposed collar bone. His body tightens slightly at this new and unexpected display of love. I try not to over do it with my affectations of want but this evening is different.

It was a day like any other really. Breakfast with Greasy Sae. A walk around town, hand in hand, then tea with Haymitch followed by work in the garden. We worked on the book in front of the fire place. Peeta is still consumed with teaching me his art therapy. We sit, night after night, in front of his canvases, paintbrushes in hand and I swirl meaningless globs of paint around and around like it will unleash the horror plaguing my mind. But tonight instead of paint brushes we dip our fingers in the paint and run them senselessly across the canvass. The acrylic paint is cool under my finger tips. Of course I'm doing it all wrong. I don't have enough. I have too much. I use too much water. Just as I grow frustrated Peeta comes behind me. Lacing his fingers between mine he runs my hand across the canvass. I feel his body warmly pressed up against my back, his other arm wrapped tightly around my waist.

While I'm used to the presence of his body against mine feeling his paint covered fingers sensuously moving against mine ignites a fire that I've been fighting.

Lately each kiss has more meaning. Each touch pulls tighter at my heart. Even worse, I know I want more. I pull away quickly and detach myself from him when the flames threaten to take over. Tonight, however, while our paint covered interlocked fingers explore the canvass in red and orange colors I can't think of one reason to pull away.

So this evening, as I run my fingers over his muscular chest, I resign myself to give in. I always thought that when the time came I'd be a fumbling amateur. Unsure of what to do, how to behave or what is expected of me. I don't feel that way, though. With the stiffening of his body at my kiss I am drawn even closer to him.

I've told him I love him before. We say it all the time. But tonight, I resolve to show him. I position myself so that my lips are just barely touching his ear.

"I love you, Peeta," I mouth to him, barely a whisper. His body reacts instantly at the intimateness of my gesture. His hands move across my hips and he inches my already close body even closer to him. I let my lips trail along the side of his face before settling on his neck. Unconsciously my lips move to his, pressing firmly and eagerly accepted. I feel his fingertips tangle in my hair and move down my spine, gaining purchase on the small of my back. I pull away slightly, just enough so I can gaze into his blue eyes. They watch me speculatively, waiting for my next move.

"I love you," he finally returns. I feel his breath on my already enflamed skin and fully commit to my plans. I kiss him again, with full intent, moving my hands desperately across his body. He moves his body so his form is hovered just over mine. I take his face in my hands, finding his eyes.

I speak softly, and slowly, to ensure that he doesn't question my sincerity. "Peeta…," but then I stumble. I am choked with emotion, "Make love to me," I finally recover, barely audible. I see him put my actions together with my words. He sees the desperation in my eyes for his touch and he does not question me. He makes no move to reject my sentiment. Instead, we fall effortlessly into each other. No further words need to be spoken. We are prepared to commit ourselves together in the most absolute way.

Peeta slows down now and relishes in each touch. Each kiss. He slides off both of our shirts with ease. Our bare chests exposed I catch him studying every inch of my foreign, exposed body. I move my fingers along the smooth skin of chest while he does this same. Our breathing increases simultaneously as the kisses become more intense. I'm elated when he moves his lips from mine, down my chin and to my neck. He brushes them against my collar bone and over my heart. He moves his face over my torso, stealing kisses along the way while my fingers grasp onto his blonde curls.

I close my eyes and immerse myself in the sensation of his lips feeling the most sensitive parts of my body. Parts that have never been explored and have ached too long for this attention. I burrow my fingers into the elastic of his pants hinting that I want more. I hesitate, momentarily, and catch his eyes. He is as lost in our love as I am.

I steady his forehead to mine and speak without thoughts, it comes naturally. "Marry me, Peeta." He stops now. I've finally distracted him from our eager bodies. I see a smile spreading across his face before he leans down for a kiss. Then another. And another. He successfully removes the rest of our clothes without losing the focus on exploring my body. I notice parts of his body that I have seen before, even felt, but never like this. He is new to me. Beautiful. My confidence gains the more I realize that my gentle touch is as satisfying to him as his lips are when they brush up against my skin. I kiss the palm of his hand. He rubs his nose against mine. His hands take in my full chest as I tangle my legs around his hips.

I want more.

I run my fingers past his chest and make me needs clear. He understands and without any hesitation he reacts. Gently melting into me suddenly we are one. The foreign feeling of him inside me is uncomfortable for only a fraction of a section. My warmth invites him and encapsulates him. The sensation sends a thrill from the base of my spine and up my back until it arches in pleasure and I lose myself. I am no longer Katniss Everdeen. I am not the girl on fire. I am a woman. A lover. I am whole.

My legs, still latched around his hips, pull him closer. Closer. Closer, even still. He rocks to and from me and never stops kissing me, never stops touching me, never stops meeting my eyes. I hear his whispered "I love you," over and over again. It's too much. Too good. I feel a rational tear escape my eyes. He watches, rubs it away with his thumb, and simply smiles with understanding.

Time is lost. The feeling of our joined bodies takes over all other realities. I'm not sure how much time has gone when I feel his arms envelope my writhing body. He pulls me closer to him and let's out scattered breath, his movements are faster, more succinct before they begin to ebb. He slows, resting his palm on the side of my face; I lean into it and pull his lips to mine.

He's still inside me when his fingers move down my face, past my chest, over my belly button and further. He feels my warmth and, what can only be instinct, takes over. I'm sensitive and still smoldering with want when he creates a different sensation. He finds a part of me I never knew existed and I struggle to catch my breath under his lips while his fingers move in a slow and deliberate circular motion. I feel a building within. A low moan escapes me. My head leans back arching into the pleasure. My mind gives up. I lose myself with him. The release is forceful and welcomed by both of us. He is beginning to rock his body into me again, ostensibly, second winded by my very verbal acclamation of his efforts.

After a while, our bodies slow. Our breathing returns to normal. My body is more relaxed than it has ever been. I allow my naked chest to rest onto his where his arms, once again, surround me.

He lifts my chin to angle my face closer to his. With a smile, he asks, "You want to be my wife. Real or not real?"

A smile I cannot contain breaks across my face as I promise to be his. I answer, "Real."


	2. Precautions

I get out of bed early. The sun is just barely threatening to rise outside of our window. Peeta's arms hold me close to his chest and I have to wiggle out slowly so I don't wake him. I walk the few feet to the bathroom acutely aware of the fact that I am still completely naked. My gray eyes have more life in them then they have had in months. Maybe ever. I can't control the smile that surfaces on my face. I look different. Last night was… perfect. Just as I am splashing water on my face the bathroom door swings open.

"Peeta!" I yell, startled, "Get out!" I fling a hand towel at him. Half asleep, he groggily tries to assess the situation before my hands are on his chest shoving him out the door. I shudder with embarrassment. I wrap a towel around my body and go back into the bedroom where he is pulling the covers back over him. "Don't you know how to knock? You think you can just barge into any door you want?"

His face is colored with confusion and credulity. "I just wanted to see if you were okay. You're not usually gone when I wake up."

"Yes, I'm fine!" I spit at him before pulling my clothes off the floor.

"Why are you so angry?" he asks.

"Because Peeta…" I feel my cheeks flush with humiliation. "You can't just walk in on people." He watches as I struggle to get on my shirt without letting the towel drop and expose my body. Recognition flashes on his face. He stifles a laugh.

"Katniss, I've seen you naked before. I think it's fair to say that your naked body will be forever etched in my brain after last night."

I say nothing in response. I simply climb back into bed and turn my back to him. He saw me naked in the dark. This is different. My scarred body, with its skin grafts, is repulsive.

"Katniss." He puts his arms around me and pulls me closer to his chest. "I think you're beautiful." So lightly I can barely tell that it's happening his fingers are pulling up the shirt I have just put on in haste. His fingers graze my damaged skin and send chills up my spine. He moves his lips closer to my ear, kissing my neck along the way. "You are beautiful," he repeats himself. "And if we are going to be _married_ you have to get used trusting me with your body."

I don't notice that my breathing is doubled until I can feel his hand, resting just underneath my breast, rising and falling more rapidly. "Why aren't you nervous about it?" I ask.

He exhales, "Isn't it obvious? We've seen each other at our worst. Bleeding, crying, dying, hijacked…killing." A shudder runs through my body. He quickly diverts the conversation. "There's nothing you don't know about me. I don't care if you see me."

And there you have it. The Capital continues to steal our innocence from us. Peeta couldn't possibly be uncomfortable about being exposed in front of me because we have been through much, much worse than embarrassment. But this brings me hope. Because I am embarrassed about it. Not all of my adolescence has been squandered away by the Capital and their games. I still have this. This completely rational feeling of being embarrassed for my boyfriend to see me naked is still mine. I smile at this revelation.

He mistakenly takes the credit for this. "Have I convinced you?" he asks. I let him have this one. I turn my body towards and wrap my leg around his hip so I can move closer to him. He starts to pull my shirt up again with the intention of taking it off. I stop him.

"We should get up," I say as I kiss him on the cheek. He starts at my shirt again.

"No we shouldn't," he says with mock authority, inching his lips closer to my neck.

"Yes… we should." I begin to pull away. "I think we should stick to the routine. Everyone will be here for breakfast soon and I need to shower."

"I could come with you," he tries, hopefully.

"Not a chance," I yell over my shoulder going back into the bathroom. I need a minute to think. I could easily hop back into bed with him right now for round two. But then what? This is important. And special. It shouldn't be given away at a moment's whim. No. I will not let my hormones rule this situation.

I take a long, hot shower. I run the soap over my damaged skin and clean the night off of me. My body feels different. It's not mine anymore. Mine are not the only hands to caress these intimate parts. It's not different in a bad way. Just different. Foreign. After my long shower I step back into the bedroom, fully dressed. Peeta has gone and the bed has been made.

I feel a lonely, sinking feeling in my stomach. I shouldn't have sent him away the way I did. I ruined the morning after the best night of our lives. I don't know if the act of making love was better or the feeling afterwards. My body relaxed and new. His arms enclosed around me protectively. Hearing his breath regain control after…after. No, I should have not sent him away. I will have to make it up to him.

Downstairs I find all the usual guests. Haymitch, Graesy Sae, her granddaughter and Peeta all wait for me at the breakfast table. The smell of fresh baked bread engulfs the entire room. Peeta has a smile on his face that could be seen from the Capital. I meekly return the gesture. I had planned on acting casual, convinced they would know just be looking at me. He's ruined that. He's ecstatic beyond control.

"Oh, boy," Haymitch says as I take my seat.

I glance around the table. Everyone watches him. His eyes move from my paranoia to Peeta's elation and he shakes his head. I kick Peeta under the table.

"Ouch! What was that for?" He leans down to rub his chin, his smile forming into a grimace.

"Let me tell you two something," Haymitch starts.

"Please. Don't," I interject.

"No, sweetheart, this is important," he continues. "Now, I'm thrilled to death to see some life in your eyes again but love is a powerful thing. It makes you stupid." He moves his eyes back to Peeta who is again beaming with joy while staring at me. Why not just announce it to the whole town? He slams his hand on the table to get our attention. "Don't be stupid," he says, pointing his finger in my face. "Be smart," he finishes, with a finger in Peeta's direction.

"What'd I miss?" Graesy Sae's granddaughter asks as she shovels hot bread into her mouth.

"Mind your business, dear," Graesy Sae tells her, passing the butter. She catches my eye with an expression that tells me I have not heard the end of this.

I am not wrong.

After breakfast she catches me as I'm heading out for a walk. "Can I walk with you?" she asks, already beside me with her jacket on.

"S-sure," I stammer, feeling trapped. We stroll through the wasteland that was District 12. The town is slowly rebuilding itself but not fast enough. We quickly divide back into the have and the have not's. We have. They have not. We try to distinguish this imaginary line by helping out around the community with free food and labor. But people are stubborn. No one wants a handout. We offered to move the remaining residents into the Victor houses. They are large enough to hold the whole town but everyone refused. I don't blame them. I miss the Seam too. If my old house hadn't been destroyed in the war I'd be back there living in squalor with the rest of them.

"Look, honey, it's obvious you and Peeta are in love," she starts. "And I know Haymitch can be a pain when he's sober with his fatherly advice…and when he's drunk with his belligerent meddling but he means well. And he's right. But you're a smart girl and I'm sure you already know that, don't you?"

If I pivot my foot just to the left I can make a direct line for the woods. She'll never find me in there. The woods are mine and I can hide from this humiliation. I calculate the commotion it'd make if I made a run for it now. She puts her arm around my shoulders. Damn! I can't run now and risk knocking her down.

"You know he's right, don't you?" she repeats herself.

Ugh. Fine. Talk fast. Then escape. I know this game. "Peeta and I aren't going to be stupid about it."

"So it did happen then? You guys have started a…sexual relationship?" I feel my cheeks blush wildly and I am thankful I left my long hair out of its braid today. I pull hair down on either side of my face to hide my expression. "You can talk to me. I've been there. Plus, I promised your mom I'd look out for you and this is important."

I feel her arm stroke the back of my head in an effort to comfort me. This can't be easy for her. How long has it been since she's had to initiate this conversation? I concede.

"Just last night. It was the first time. For both of us," I finally tell her.

She exhales deeply and doesn't speak for so long I begin to relax in hope that this conversation is over.

"Were you careful about protecting yourselves?" she finally asks. Crap. I hadn't thought of that. Neither of us had. Who the hell has time to think about these insidious details when there is that much need going on? I hang my head in shame at my idiotic lack of judgment. "I'm going to take that as a no."

I peer up at her from under my eyelashes and through my hair. A distinct frown has formed on your face. "Listen," she continues, "Bringing a child into the world can be a beautiful thing –,"

"Oh, I don't want kids," I cut in. "I'm not bringing a child into _this_ world!" I guffaw at the very thought.

"Well then you need to be careful, Katniss. Where do you think babies come from?" she asks.

"I know where they come from. I am aware of the repercussions of not being careful but I just…I just…lost my head, I guess," I admit. I did lose my head. Lose may not be the best word. Gave. I gave my head. And my body. And my heart. And my life over to Peeta last night. I flashback to the way his hips felt cradled in between my legs. His sturdy hands, holding onto my body as if his life depended on it. I feel something inside me then. The feeling of want has returned. We've just entered into town when I gradually make a loop so we can head back. I want.

"I'm not here to take the fun out of this. I was young once. I remember what it was like. I'm just here to tell you that there are things you can do. Precautions you can take to make sure that you don't inadvertently bring a child into this hellhole," she mumbles the last word under her breath. I smile. I have an ally on this one.

"What kind of precautions?" I ask.

She laughs. "Well haven't you ever heard of birth control?"

"Of course," I answer. Sure I've heard of it. Just like I've heard of something called "VCRs" and "CD players." It doesn't mean I know what the hell it is.

She senses this. "We'll get you some condoms. They are old fashioned – and not as fun -," she elbows me with a smile at this, "but they get the job done. Haymitch will show Peeta how to use it and then we'll never have to talk about this again, ok?" she squeezes my shoulders and I'm thankful to be almost home.

As we round the corner of Victor Village I see Peeta and Haymitch on the side of the garden. Peeta's eyes are wide and uncomfortable. Haymitch has an ear of corn in his hand and is motioning something with the other. He then starts thrusting it in the oddest way.

"Oh, Lord," Graesy Sae exclaims, "We're back!" We walk over to the two and she grabs the corn out of his hand. "Give me that. Come on."

They walk toward his house and I'm left with Peeta in his state of discomfort. He takes a deep breath before facing me. "Haymitch just told me the weirdest thing," he says.

"Believe me, I know." I take his hand and guide him back to the house. "We need to talk." After closing, and locking, the door behind us I turn right into Peetas arms and lips. He hoists me onto his hips by my backside and my legs are instantly straddled around him. Before I know what's happening he's whisking me up the stairs and setting me onto our bed.

My fingers move without reason to unbutton his shirt. His hands pull up mine over my head. We were going to talk about something. It was important. But I can't recall what and I don't care to at this point.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out, in the middle of breathy kisses. He stops. "I'm sorry about this morning. I panicked. Of course, I trust you with my body." I place his hands on my bare breasts. He gulps hard and with distinct effort tries to regain his composure.

"I'm glad," he says, his breath coming back to him. "Because I meant what I said Katniss, you are beautiful. I feel self conscious too sometimes. About my leg. My scars. But none of that matters. It's what's in here that matters." He moves his right hand over my heart.

Then my lips are crashing into his again. Our hands feverishly undress each other and we fall into one another again. This time, we slow down. There's no rushing to meet the hankering desire. This time, there is a slow build up. It builds and builds and builds and before I know it I can feel my muscles clenching the way they did last night. My heart is pounding and my mind has given complete control over to this internal sensation rocking through my body. Peeta stops when it's over. He watches me as I come back to him with a smile.

"Katniss," he whispers. I'm not ready to talk. I let out something like a moan in response. "I can feel you…" I try to pay attention to what he is saying. There's a feeling inside me, wrapped around him. It's like a… dropping sensation. As if something inside me is lowering itself to meet him.

Precautions! Shoot!

Peeta starts rocking into me again and the sensation sends my nerves into overdrive. The internal combustion returns and goes on and on and on. It's deeper and with each meeting of our bodies it catapults my desire a hundred fold.

Afterwards, we have the best day nap anyone has ever had in history. I wake to find him watching me, his face colored with adulation. He is beautiful. And he is mine. I move in for a kiss but then remember. We need to talk.


	3. The Talk

Peeta nuzzles his face into my neck and when I finally find the will to push him off of me I realize I know exactly what Haymitch meant when he said love makes you stupid.

"What's wrong, Katniss?" he asks, rejection plastered all over his face.

"Nothing's wrong," I tell him. I sit up in front of him, wrapping the blanket around my body. "If we're going to be doing this," I gesticulate between our naked bodies, "then we need to make sure that we don't accidentally get me pregnant." It wasn't the most articulate way to say it but it got the point across. "And we need to get married," I add. Might as well get it all out at once.

He speaks quickly without really thinking about what I've said. "First, we can get married today if you want," he smiles at this. "Second, Haymitch was just telling me that we can use condoms so you don't get pregnant. I promised we wouldn't do it again without them but…I guess I got carried away." Another smile, as he reaches for my body under the blanket. "Besides, I'm not too worried about it. There are worse things in the world then the thought of you carrying my child." He leans in to kiss my lips.

"Stop that!" I snap, pulling away from him. "Can we just have one conversation without you groping me?" I climb off of the bed, falling over the covers that wrap my body. "It would be the worst thing, Peeta. The _very_ worst thing if got pregnant. I don't want to bring a baby into this world. Not now, not ever. You think just because we had sex that would change?"

He watches me closely and a cross between pain and humiliation appears on his face. I didn't want to make him feel bad. I never want to make him feel bad. He must know this, though. How many times have I spoken about my disdain for this inept world we live in? Surely, he must have known this. The silence becomes almost too much to bear when he finally speaks.

"You want to marry me. But you don't want to make a family with me," he clarifies.

"You are my family Peeta. We are family. The two of us," I sit next to him and take his hand, feeling guilty for hurting his feelings. "I don't need anything more than you. You are enough."

He takes another excruciating long pause contemplating this. "Maybe, when things get better around here, you'll change your mind. We're young. You still have another twenty years to change your mind. After all, you changed your mind about wanting to get married, right?" My heart crumbles then because I know I'll never change my mind about this. And I know that Peeta needs this hope. But maybe after enough time has gone by he'll see that we are enough, that we don't need anyone else to fill our lives. And because I need him so badly in my life I hate myself for what I have to do next. I lean my body into his and let his arms surround me with his familiar warmth and comfort.

I take a deep breath, to steady my voice, before I speak, "Maybe you're right," I lie. "Maybe I will change my mind someday."

He takes my face into his hands, relief washing over his expression. "That's all I'm asking for. An open mind." When he forms his lips to mine the guilt for lying to him is overwhelming. I can't catch my breath and I'm struggling to keep my expression steady so he won't notice what a despicable excuse for a person I am. "Now let's go get married," he finally says.


	4. Vent

_Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. I've never done this before so your input is greatly appreciated!_

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own the Hunger Games or any characters or storylines within them. These belong to Suzanne Collins. _

Two months later.

Peeta has officially moved into my house. He was here all the time before but then I could send him home when I felt like his hovering was getting annoying. He hovers. It's excessive. I can't tell him to leave now because we're married. This is our house. So I just try to move faster than him. I get a door locked behind me before he can turn the knob. I sneak out to the garden when he's in the shower. Sometimes I get so desperate I go to Haymitches' house and sit in one of the empty rooms upstairs. I love Peeta but people need space. Greasy Sae laughs at this and says, "Welcome to the married life!"

That's not to say I don't enjoy being married to him. He looks at me differently. The errant look of fury toward me happens less and less now which makes me think that maybe one day his desire to kill me will vanish completely.

It happened again the other night. My screams woke me up in the middle of the night; my arms thrashed in the darkness looking for him next to me but came up empty. The absence of him in the dark always makes me panic. I flashback to the days when I thought I had lost him forever. And then I feel miserable because when I wake and he is not there that is exactly what has happened. I lose him all over again. I went to the window and looked across the lawn to the Victor house next to mine, Peeta's. The porch light was on. This is our signal. When he wakes with a start and a strong desire to snap my sleeping neck he finds it within himself to get away from me immediately. He'll go to his old house, turn the porch light on, and wait until the frenzy is completely gone. I don't know how he still has the strength to do this.

He only slipped once. We were in front of the fireplace, a night like any other. One minute we were talking about nothing in particular, the next he had knocked me over and his hands were bashing my head into the floorboards. I grasped at his face, desperate to bring him back to me but his eyes, wide with fury, were a world away. If it wasn't for Haymitch hearing the commotion I have no doubt he would have killed me. Afterwards, he said he thought if just kept taking through it, just kept ignoring it, and stayed close to me it would pass. He was wrong. He hasn't made that mistake again. So now he goes back to the old house. I don't like it when he leaves in the night but seeing the porch light brings me enough peace to at least stop the screams. The sleep, on the other hand, is a lost cause.

Now he keeps complaining about the condoms. I don't blame him. I hate them too but we don't have any other choice in the matter. He hasn't asked me if I've thought about the baby situation but I know he's waiting for it to happen. He's watching for the switch to be flipped in my mind so he can pounce. This, of course, makes me in charge of stopping and getting the condom out and in place before we make love. Which immediately ruins the mood. I think back to the first time we had sex and wish it could be that carefree again. Now I feel like all I can focus on is the barrier between the two of us. Connected but never really touching. No, I do not blame him. I hate the condoms too.

He breaks my train of thought as he emerges from the kitchen with fresh bread and jam. "Mrs. Mellark," he says, handing me his homemade snack. We sit in front of the fire place and watch the fire dance behind the mesh in meaningless motions. This has become our evening ritual. After art therapy, and the exhausting production of art therapy clean up, we move in front of the fire for snacks and what we lovingly refer to as "vent."

"Ready?" he asks, sitting as far away from me as possible on the sofa.

"I honestly don't feel like it tonight, Peeta," I say, as I nibble on my warm bread.

"I know. I never feel like it. But if we don't talk to each other then we have to talk Dr. Aurelius." We promised the doctor that we would continue our nightly talks with each other – so long as we never had to talk to him again. He was reluctant but Haymitch vouched for our progress. "Do you want me to go first?" he asks.

"No," I tell him firmly. I hated when he went first. By the time it was my turn to go all I could do was think of the horrific images he had painted for me and how I was responsible for most of his nightmarish thoughts. "I'll go," I give in, reluctantly.

I see him brace himself for whatever horrors I have to reveal.

"Today I was in the woods," I start. "I knew I wouldn't get much since it's been so cold the last few days but I thought I'd give it a try anyway. I wish I hadn't," my voice begins to waver and I take a minute to compose myself. Peeta waits patiently. "I slipped on a rock and fell onto my knees in the mud, my hands slipped into the soil. When I pulled them out there was a dead primrose stuck to my palm… It was yellow." My body hurled over and choked on the nausea that never produced relief. The pain shuddered through me and I didn't realize I was screaming until I couldn't catch my breath. I started taking huge chunks of mud from the ground and threw them as far as I could hoping to get any other signs of the dead plant as far away from me as possible. When it started to rain again I finally left the woods and wandered around the Seam since I knew I couldn't go home in this state. Not while my chest was still torn completely open and my heart still ached uncontrollably for my little sister. My dead little sister. I feel the warm tears streaming down my face and realize I haven't said anything for a few minutes. Again, Peeta waits patiently. "I miss her," I finally tell him, my mouth barely breathing the words aloud. If I say them any louder then it will be too real. More tears break through my eyes until my vision is completely blurred with sorrow and longing.

"I miss her too," Peeta whispers, "I miss her too, Katniss." We have a rule that when we start the vent we sit on opposite sides of the sofa. That way if Peeta gets triggered by a thought I'm not within reach of any rage that may come. But he scoots over to me and takes me in his arms. I allow myself to cry all over him. I don't usually like to indulge in the pain but having someone to cry with really does make it better. After I get all the tears out Peeta returns to his side of the couch. I bring my knees to my chest and clutch onto them tightly preparing myself for his demons.

"You go," I tell him.

He takes a deep breath, clasping his hands together in his lap. "Today we were working on the schoolhouse." A handful of District 12 residents are rebuilding the school in town. Peeta has worked on nearly every new structure that has gone up. Between painting, baking and building he gets out most of his aggression before we get to the vent. "Thom was working on one of the walls and his hammer slipped. He got his thumb…" he slows down now and avoids eye contact. I can see his knuckles going white with the force he uses to clench them together. "He screamed." And he doesn't have to say anything else. All the screams we've heard over the last few years echo in our minds constantly. My screams. His screams. The children in the Capital as the parachutes exploded, taking body parts with them but keeping them alive enough to suffer the torture of a slow death. Children so young that they barely reached the knees of my little sister before she was blown to bits. Prims' dying screams. Peeta clenches his eyes shut and I can see his body shuddering as he tries to control whatever flashback he is having. I want to reach out to him as he did to me but I know that won't help. I have to let him work it out in his head. After a while his body begins to relax. His fingers unclench first; he places his hands palm down on his thighs. Then he slowly opens his eyes and takes a few deep breaths before he looks at me again. I have no words for him so I just nod in understanding. He nods back.

The vent. What a nightmare. But I have to admit I feel a little looser, a little more relaxed afterwards. Peeta starts to make his way over to me slowly - inch by inch, breath by breath, until we sit shoulder to shoulder in front of the fire. We put our feet up on the table in front of us and try to release the trauma of our admissions.

"I don't know why you bother with the schoolhouse," I tell him after a long while of silence.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"We never learned anything in school besides what the Capital taught us. Who is in charge of education in Panem now?"

"I'm not sure," he answers.

"The person who controls the education is the person that controls the people," I tell him. I remember learning about the coal mines and about how awful the rebellion was. How great the Capital was. And the fear they tried to instill in us with the Games. What will they teach now?

"Maybe you should do it," Peeta suggests.

"Do what?"

"Education. Maybe you should be a part of the department of education for Panem. Nobody knows all sides of the story like you do. Someone is going to have to teach history the right way. You should do it." I laugh at this. Like I am stable enough to control something that important for the entire country. Like they would even want me. "I know what you're thinking, Katniss. You're thinking you're not good enough. But you are. And they'd be lucky to have you."

"I'm not ready for something like that, Peeta."

"Fine. Not the whole country. But at least our district. You could work on the education for our district. You've lived here your whole life and you know enough to teach what is important. People trust your perspective. People would trust you with their children."

He always sees the good in me. I can't help myself but to lean my body into his, placing kisses on any exposed skin my lips can find. "You're too good to me," I tell him honestly. He gives me a disagreeable smile before pulling me against his chest.

The rain starts up again and I can hear the water tapping against the infinite amount of windows on the house. Nature's soothing lullaby tempts my exhaustion. Peeta puts the fire out and leads me upstairs to bed. His body is warm compared to the coolness of the taut sheets. I pull him close to me and force his arms to encircle my shivering body. The window is slightly ajar to let a little of the night air in. To this day we still relish the freedom of fresh air. Just as I'm starting to doze off, he wakes me.

"Katniss, are you awake?"

"I am now," I tell him harshly, my fatigue making me callous.

"I think you should do it," he says.

"Do what?"

"The school. Take charge of the education here. I think it'd be good for you. You'd be a part of the solution, you know?"

The idea was intriguing. I could use something to focus my days on while Peeta was off doing his own part in rebuilding our world. "I'll think about it. Okay?"

"Okay," he accepts. I feel his lips in my hair, kissing quietly. His hands move over my tired body, gently at first then more focused on specific areas.

"I'm tired," I tell him, wiggling away from his advances.

"You don't have to do anything," he tells me, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "I'll do the all the work," he says as he kisses my neck. I hear myself giggle at this and the feeling of joy at my husband's lust for me is overwhelming. I turn my body so I am facing him.

"I love you, Peeta."

"I know," he returns before his lips meet mine.

The heat coming off of our bodies quickly warms the bed and soon I can feel beads of sweat forming at his hairline. As clothing is removed and his body is positioned above mine the need for him inside me is nearly unbearable. I tangle my fingers in his hair and guide his lips as they move over my neck, my collarbone, my chest and my breasts. He goes further down my torso kissing my hips, moving his fingertips along the inside of my thighs. Soon I am so consumed with the feeling of his attention to my body that the day's sorrows and worries slip away. The horrors from the vent and the sadness of flashbacks fade and in their place is the crushing feeling of love. Want. My body moves without instruction as I wrap myself around him in ways that only I can.

Shoving him over I take my turn to kiss him. I start just under his ear where I whisper my love for him and move down to his strong shoulders. I run my fingers along the muscles in his arms and take his hand in mine. I move lower, feeling my lips over his chest and the muscles in his stomach. I kiss every inch of his exposed body still holding tightly to his hand. His muscles clench when my lips graze his skin and my mouth takes in his flesh with desire. Soon we have moved to a sitting position and I straddle myself around his legs, I move my body suggestively up and down, his face sinking into the space between my breasts. He grasps onto my hips, no longer able to contain what our bodies both hunger for and pushes himself into me. The feeling of him inside me forces a glottal moan of pleasure from the depths of my soul. I want more. My mind searches for when he felt this good. It wonders vacantly why we don't do this more often. What is different now from how this was last night?

No sooner does my subconscious ask the question when my mind screams for me to stop. I pull myself off of him, fighting his hands from pulling me back down. It takes all the strength I have to resist the feeling of him inside me again. I take his face in my hands. "Peeta, wait," I tell him sternly. "Wait." I move off of him and clumsily search in the bedside table for a condom.

"Oh," he lets out, disappointed. "I forgot." Of course he did. He always forgets because when we make love all he cares about is expressing his love for me, no matter the consequences.

"I'm sorry," I tell him as I put the condom on him. And I am sorry. I hate these condoms just as much as he does but there is no other choice. I regret when I meet his eyes because they plead for me to let go with him. They plead for me to love without consequence. But I can't. And I never will.

Afterwards, I lean onto his back, placing my head in between his shoulder blades. I feel terrible. Every time we have to stop I feel guilty and can never really enjoy it. I know he senses it. "I'm sorry," I tell him again for more than he can understand.

"Don't be sorry," he says, taking my hand in his. I know he means to comfort but this has the opposite effect. So to make myself feel better I grasp at what I can to please him knowing we'll never have the baby he so desperately wants.

"I'll do it," I tell him. "I'll get a job at the school."

He sighs deeply like his body has finally relaxed after our lovemaking. "You're going to be great," he says and I can hear him smiling. With that I find myself wishing he'd flashback and see me as the monster I really am.


	5. Accusations

_Thanks again to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. Hope you enjoy this one!_

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own the Hunger Games, any characters or settings represented in the following story. The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins._

The wretched screeching is unbearable. That loathsome cat taunts me from across the lawn. It's bad enough it's rejected the idea of living with me but now it must throw it in my face verbosely. Having reached my threshold for annoyance I decide to kill two birds with one stone. I find Buttercup sitting on Haymitch's stoop. He's been living with him for months.

"What are you doing, you stupid cat?" I ask him. He lets out a deep groan of disgust at my presence. "Well?" I ask again. I'm talking to a cat. Worse, I'm waiting for a response. I hop up the stairs and bang on the door calling Haymitch's name.

No answer. I open the unlocked door and walk through the house calling for him. I finally find him sitting on a bench in the backyard, clutching a full bottle of clear liquor.

"What are you doing? I was calling you." I sit next to him.

"Last bottle right here," he waves the liquor in my direction, "for a while, anyway. I'm holding off as long as I can."

"Want to share?" I ask, halfheartedly.

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Married life bringing you down?" he asks, with a boisterous laugh. My cheeks enflame with fury at his insensitive comment. I don't know why his disrespect still gets to me but it does. Though, in this case, I may be irritated by the fact that he's right.

"Can I talk to you about something?" I ask.

"Shoot," he says.

"Why didn't you ever get married?" I ask him. He starts to get up immediately, I grab at his arm but he pulls away. "Wait," I beg.

"Nope. Not going there," he returns, trying to break free from my grip.

"Wait!" I say again. "Stupid question, I'm sorry. Please. Sit." He gives me a stern look meant to intimidate me but instead I stifle a laugh. He finally sits back down. "What I meant was, and please don't run away at this because it's important to me… did you ever want to have kids?"

This gets his attention. He stops sulking and catches my eyes with amused understanding. "Why don't you just cut to the chase? This isn't about me, it's about you and how Peeta wants kids. More importantly how you don't."

My silence tells him he's right.

"Why do you get yourself so worked up over nothing?" he accuses me.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, taken aback by his reproach.

"I'm talking about you creating these insufferable situations just so you can feel… alive or whatever it is you are pretending to be. If you are desperate enough to come over and talk to me then that means you've been obsessing over this. Probably for a while now, too. Stop getting all worked up over nothing."

Infuriating. That is what he is. I speak very slowly so as not to offend him, I'm livid but I want to hear this. "What. Do. You. Mean?"

"What. I. Mean. Is," he mimics me and I clench my fist, wanting to punch him in the face. "On the scale of life you're practically a zygote. You're young, Katniss. You have years and years and more years to think about this. You think you know everything right now. You think you know yourself. Well I have news for you: you don't! So stop getting all worked up over this. Just because you don't want a kid now doesn't mean you won't want one in ten years. Trust me, sweetheart, you don't know shit about shit."

I stare back at him, fuming. "It's not that simple," I tell him, articulating each word to control the rage in my voice.

"It is. It always is," he brushes off my concerns with growing annoyance in his voice.

"No, it isn't…" I say, my guilt and regret crushing my rage.

"Oh, come on, Katniss. I'm sick of this. Why can't you just enjoy your life? I know everything didn't turn out the way we wanted but in the end you got Peeta. He's alive. He loves you. You're free. Why don't you focus on that for a change instead of feeling sorry for yourself all the time?"

"It's not me I feel bad for," I tell him, he waits for me continue as impatiently as humanly possible. "I feel bad for Peeta. He doesn't understand why I'm so persistent about the condoms."

Haymitch laughs so abruptly and so loudly that I jump up from my seat. I watch him disbelieving. One minute he is annoyed with me, the next he's laughing at me. I don't know why I bother ever trying to talk to him. "Is that what's got you so upset?" he asks, in between guffaws. He doesn't wait for me to respond. "Katniss," he says, gaining his composure, "Listen to me and listen good. Whether Peeta wants ten kids with you or none at all, he's going to complain about the condoms. He will always complain about the condoms. Any man will _always_ complain about the condoms. Always. Are you hearing me? _Always_."

"What do you mean?" I demand.

"Men hate condoms! They're uncomfortable. It ruins everything. But I'm sure I don't have to tell you that."

"What a minute," I tell him trying to grasp this new information. "You're telling me that Peeta isn't upset because I'm avoiding get pregnant, but he's upset because it's … uncomfortable?"

"You got it, kid," he gets up and moves past me, "now let's go crack open this bottle."

"Wait," I call out to him but he's already through the doors to the kitchen. Maybe Peeta does get that look in his eye because he thinks they are uncomfortable but that doesn't change the fact that I'm lying to him. I follow after Haymitch. He's sitting at the dining room table with two one ounce glasses in front of him.

"Want to play a game?" he asks.

"I'm not done talking to you," I tell him.

"Sit," he motions with his hand, "You play. I'll talk." I sigh, irritated but accept.

"Fine," I sit. "Maybe you're right about it being uncomfortable but I'm still lying to him. He still thinks I'm going to change my mind."

"How do you know you won't?" he asks, as he fishes in his pocket for something.

"I just do. I feel very strongly about this."

"I told you once already, Katniss, you don't know what you want. Just let it go," he says, I start to object but he cuts me off. "Either let it go or say something to him. One or the other. But I don't want to hear it anymore. Here we go," he says diverting his attention to a coin he has pulled out of his pocket. "The name of the game is Quarters –"

I cut him off, "Why 'Quarters'?"

"Because a quarter was the value of the coin that was used when this game was invented. Now what you do is – "

"That's a stupid name for a game," I interrupt again.

"Damn it, Katniss. Do you want to play or not?"

"Not," I tell him. I head for the front door leaving him alone to drown his day away. To my surprise Peeta is just bounding up the steps to find me.

"Hey, there," he says, cheerfully. He wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me slightly, pressing his lips to mine. "I was looking for you. Heading home?" he asks, not setting me down. I'm not ready to deal with him right now. Not when Haymitch has given me so much to think about.

Am I being ridiculous? Should I just tell Peeta the truth? The joy on Peetas face to see me even though we were together just a few hours before tells me now is not the time. I don't want to ruin his good mood. Plus, I'm not sure how to approach the issue yet.

"Come on," I tell him, "Haymitch wants to play a game with us." I drag him back inside and to the table where Haymitch has just poured himself a drink. "I found him," I say to Haymitch. I raise my eyebrows just enough to warn him to play along. "Let's play." He seems genuinely happy to have company.

He doesn't skip a beat.

"What you want to do is take the coin and bounce it off the table like this," the coin hits the table and arches perfectly to land in the one ounce glass in front of Peeta. "I make it in your cup, you drink. I miss, I drink. Got it?"

"Why would we want to play this? We're going to get really, really drunk," Peeta says. The question is directed toward me but I ignore it.

"Got it, let's do it," I say, fishing the coin out of Peetas glass. I bounce the coin off the table and it lands in Haymitch's full glass. His eyebrows furrow in disbelief though I can sense his appreciation for the challenge. I smirk. "I'm a hunter, Haymitch. I don't miss my mark." His coin lands in Peetas cup. Peeta starts to protest but Haymitch tells him to stop whining. He examines the contents of the glass before finally downing it all in one swig. He coughs violently and dry heaves before setting the glass back down in front of him. Peetas coin misses my cup and he has to drink again, repeating the same process as before.

I gun for Haymitch getting him six times. He gets me and Peeta both three times but Peeta hasn't made a single shot and I've lost count of how many shots he's had. The way he's resting his head on the table tells me he's had enough. My head starts to spin too. I've never drank this much this fast before. Or ever. Something tells me my body can't handle it.

"Peeta," I say, running my fingers in his hair to get his attention, "Peeta, let's go home." Haymitch balks in his victory while I help Peeta stand and we lean on each other to get our footing. "Not cool, Haymitch," I berate before we step into the cool air. I never should have gone back in there.

Somehow we manage to make it up the stairs and to our bedroom before collapsing into each other's arms. The room is spinning, faster by the minute, and the sun is just barely setting outside our window. We're going to miss dinner. We're going to miss vent. This makes me smile.

"Katniss," Peeta asks, startling me. I thought he was already sleeping. "Why did you want to do that?"

"Do what?" I ask. I take deep breaths willing the nausea to go away. I try to close my eyes but it makes the spinning worse.

"Drink. That was a bad idea," he says.

"You're right. I underestimated your abilities," I tell him through deep breaths, sitting up. "You're terrible." I pull my shirt over my head. I'm sweating but the air hitting my skin instantly makes me shiver. "You're the worst," I mumble, as I drag myself off the bed.

I walk slowly so as not to fall over and make it into the bathroom where I splash water on my face. I can't focus on my face in the mirror because there are two of me being reflected. Suddenly the sensation of standing upright propels vomit from me. But I haven't eaten in hours so its straight liquor that flies out of my mouth and into the sink. It burns nearly as much coming up as it did going down. After I've expelled the poison from my body my stomach still hurls bile to punish me. After that is expunged I am left weak, my body is perspiring uncontrollably and I feel as though I could quite literally fall over and sleep on this very spot.

I stumble through the doorframe but Peeta is nowhere to be found. I call his name but get no answer. Just as I'm about to go into the hall to search for him I see his shoes sticking out from the side of the bed, next to the wall.

"Peeta," I call out loudly. He's got his forearm over his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"It's better on the floor. Come here," he holds his hand out to me, without taking his arm off of his eyes. I squeeze myself into the space between his body and the wall. He's right. The hard floor makes the room spin less.

"I'm sorry," I tell him as I've settled against his body. "That was a bad idea. But I have to say, throwing up helps. You should go try."

"No," he says with finality. I mean to protest but sleep crushes me immediately.

I can't remember the last time I slept so soundly. My head is pounding and the smell of the liquor is still seeping from my pores despite having already showered but not a single nightmare. I slept the whole night through. Peeta has already started baking which surprises me. He didn't even throw up. The liquor just permeated in him all night. The idea of this is repugnant and I choke on my unsettled stomach. I focus on eating the bread he has laid out for me. Food is a must right now. I eat slowly and carefully. Making sure each bite stays down.

He takes the seat opposite me. His hair is disheveled and his eyes are a little bloodshot but he seems to be holding up quite well.

"What was that yesterday?" he asks. "Something must be really bothering you if you'd resort to drinking with Haymitch."

"I'm fine," I dismiss his concerns.

"Don't lie to me, Katniss," he says firmly.

Every inch of my body hurts. The muscles in my torso and my back are sore, my legs are sore, I have a bruise on my arm I don't remember getting. My stomach is wrecked. Each beat of my heart makes the blood in my temples throb and this only adds to my headache. The last thing I want to talk about right now is how I feel so guilty for lying to him that I'd subject my body to Haymitch and his poison.

"Katniss," Peeta says, leaning closer. "Tell me." He takes my hand in his and the warmth of his hands from just being in the oven is intoxicating. I stroke my fingers within his palm and the rhythm of such ebbs the incessant pounding in my head. His blue eyes, though cloudy, are vibrant with a very real look of concern. I'm baffled by his ability to still look at me this way when I hurt him again and again.

"Peeta…" I start. I haven't thought this through enough to be having this conversation. I don't know how to word this without offending him. I can't hurt him anymore. I start slowly. "Why do you hate the condoms so much?"

His eyes move away from mine and I can see him trying to find the origin of this question. He gives up. "What?"

"You hate them. I know you do," I say. I wait for him to agree. Or to protest. Anything. But he doesn't respond. "I just want to know why you hate them."

"Katniss, what is this all about?" he asks. I can sense his growing frustration.

"Please, Peeta. Please just answer the question."

"It's not a big deal," he says, deflecting.

"No. Don't do that. I want a real answer."

He lets out a sigh and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. His hand tries to wiggle away from mine but I hold onto it tightly. Something in my eyes must tell him that I am serious because he finally answers. "It's just so…unnatural. I don't want to feel a piece of rubber wrapped around me. I want you." He moves his hand up to my face and softly caresses my check. "I want your warmth…I want to feel the moisture that your body produces because it wants me…not a condom."

I should stop now but I hate the look of doubt that Peeta is watching me with.

"I hate them for that too," I tell him honestly. I take deep breath. "But Peeta, we have to wear them…"

"I know, Katniss. That's why I haven't mentioned it."

"No, you don't' understand," I fidget with his fingers in mine, "I don't want to get pregnant."

"I know that," he smiles, trying to reassure me.

"No, Peeta. Listen to me." I squeeze his hand in mine. "I don't want to get pregnant… Ever."

The final word hangs in the air between us and sucks all of the oxygen out of the room. When he finally responds he doesn't let go of my hand and speaks with confidence, convincing himself that I have misspoken.

"Katniss, we talked about this. You said you'd have an open mind. I know you don't want to get pregnant now but that could still change."

"It won't, Peeta."

"No," he says sharply, "You said that you thought you could change your mind someday. Those were your words." I can see him fighting a panic that is rising somewhere deep beyond a place that I know.

I want to run away. I want to be far, far away from his accusatory eyes. He pleads with me in silence to confirm his memory of my words but I can't. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. The growing silence only intensifies his apparent alarm at the way in which this conversation has shifted. There's only one thing left to say.

"I lied," I tell him, steady and poised, leaving him no room to object. I want to look away from the immediate grief that has surfaced in the blue eyes that I love so much but I'm paralyzed by the pain that I just have caused.

"What else have you lied about?" he recovers, his voice full of painful disdain.

"Nothing, Peeta," I answer quickly. But it's too late. His hand is pulled from mine though I clutch to it with all that I have. His eyes are hard and I begin to worry if I am going to trigger some horrible mutated memory of myself. I brace myself for the very worst of what the Capital has done to him but he recovers more calmly than I deserve.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks, on the edge of breaking.

"I don't mean to do anything," I tell him in a voice so small that I barely recognize it.

"But you are. You're not even giving us a chance at a normal life. Why? You think that what we have here isn't good enough? That I'm not good enough? You think I can't protect you? That I couldn't protect our child?" His accusations fly at me so fast that I hardly know where to start. "Why are you telling me this now?" he asks before I have a chance to respond.

"I-I don't want to lie to you," I tell him, stumbling over my words.

"Anymore, you mean. You don't want to lie to me anymore." He leaves the table and heads for the door. When I call out his name he ignores me and is out of the house before I have a chance to catch up to him.

My head pounds nearly twice as hard as it had earlier and I am thankful. I deserve all the pain that I have coming to me.


	6. Distractions

_Thanks again to everyone who's been reading, reviewing and to all of the overwhelming amount of people who have added me to their favorite author and story lists. I had no idea that I would end up writing so many chapters but now I am addicted to this story! Hope you enjoy the latest chapter. Again, your reviews are greatly appreciated._

_**Disclaimer: **__I do not own the Hunger Games, any characters, or settings. These belong to Suzanne Collins. _

* * *

"I am so excited, Katniss!" Plutarch shrieks on the other end of the phone. "I've just heard the fantastic news! We'll do a national special, 'The Mockingjay Gives Back!'"

Of course. I should have told the new Director of Education to keep his mouth shut. "No, we won't. I don't want any attention. I'm just looking for something to fill my days."

"Well we have to let the people know that you and Peeta are doing well." Are we doing well, I wonder. "People want to hear from you two. This country loves you!"

I can hear in his tone that he is on the verge of begging. "I'll talk to Peeta, we'll think about it," I tell him trying to appease.

"Fantastic! Now, a few technicalities: we haven't gotten the census results back from your district but as soon we do we'll know the demographics of the children and what kind of material will need to be taught."

"What do you mean demographics? I can tell you exactly how many kids are. There can't be more than seventy five families living here."

"No, no. We have to use the census. We are starting from scratch here, Katniss. We have to do it by the book. Now, go ahead and get a few lesson plans together for a couple of different grades. You'll have to submit them for review before you can start teaching," he says exuberantly.

"Teaching? I'm not going to teach."

"Well of course you are! You said you want to work in the school, on the curriculum."

"I do, but I'm not a teacher. I don't know how to teach kids."

"Trust me, there's nothing to it. You'll be fine. Be prepared to submit a few lesson plans next week. Talk to you soon." I knew this was going to be a disaster. At least it's something to keep my mind busy until Peeta decides what he wants to do with me.

He's been gone for two days. I don't know what's worse: knowing he's a few hundred yards from me and I can't see him or knowing he has every right to stay away from me. I thought after our argument he'd come right back. I was sure that despite having his heart broken he'd recover and be the kind and understanding man that I've come to depend on. Unfortunately, this has not been the case. He hasn't returned. Haymitch tells me I should give him space.

But what does he know? He's the one that got me into this in the first place. More or less. I take Plutarch's direction and work on lesson plans. Not that I know anything about teaching, curriculum or children for that matter. I don't even know where to start. I sit down at the kitchen table with freshly sharpened pencils and a stack of paper. I try to focus but the absence of Peeta is deafening. During this time of the day he'd be out building or baking or whatever else he does around town while I sit idle in our home. Today it's raining so I doubt he's building with the rest of the construction workers. No. He's probably at his old house, a few hundred yards from me. Within sight but hardly within reach.

History. What is the history of District 12? This seems like an abstract way to start. How do we even know the history that was told to us before was true? I can only deal with what I know to be factual. The new generation of children should know about the people of our district. The people who made it worth coming back for. People like Peeta. Poised. Inspiring. Or people like Darius who had the courage to stand up to the Capital's Peacekeepers. He stood up for Gale and they turned him into an Avox before he met his slow, torturous death. Darius is a hero. Gale. He put so much effort into the rebellion. His hatred for the Capital fueling his desire for destruction. Do people think of him as a hero? I can't. He's just a guy that only loved me when someone else wanted me. A guy that designed a bomb that took my little sister's life. Someone I once knew and will never know again.

I write down "District 12 Heroes" and put down Darius' name. Then Peetas. His name stifles my progress so I move to language arts. The idea comes to me instantly. Songs. All the songs my dad taught me when I was a little girl. I write them down, page after page after page. They all have their own underlying meanings. These could be taught as songs, maybe in a music class. But they should be taught as poetry. Students could learn to decipher these and understand the truth behind them.

Now math. The only person I know that is good with numbers, precise and accurate with his measurements, is the town baker. Peeta.

I can't do this. I need him here with me. Now. I'm surprised that I've lasted two days without him so far. I make my way over to his old house. Do I knock or just walk in? I decide to knock. I don't want to startle him and make it worse. I wait for him to answer so long that I wonder if he's even home when finally I hear the lock being unlatched.

Pain is written all over his face. It's more than just the grief that surfaced when I told him that I had lied. This is deeper. Sorrow. That's what it is. It's like he's been mourning the loss of something he never knew but knew he needed.

"I was wondering when you'd make your way over here," he says. He opens the door wider and motions for me to enter, "Come in."

The house is warm and the smell of fresh baked goods is drifting from the kitchen. His long sleeves are rolled up to his forearms and his hands and wrists are caked with flour. The apron he is wearing is completely covered in ingredients but the faint blue color of it makes his eyes pop. It takes all the strength I have to fight the urge to reach out and smooth his tousled hair down.

"I didn't know if you'd want to see me," I tell him. I move across the room and enter into the kitchen. I can see why he hasn't bothered coming to talk to me. There are racks and racks of freshly baked cookies, cupcakes, bread, and pastries. There's enough here for the entire town. An endless supply of baking goods is one plus to having sparked the revolution of our country. Peeta does not waste a single donation from the Capital.

"I didn't," he says. He moves back toward the heap of moist flour on his butcher block and begins kneading the dough with his knuckles. As I watch him from the corner of the kitchen my mind flies back to each accusation he flung at me three days before. I've inserted doubt into our relationship. He thinks that I'm not happy in our life here and that I don't think he is capable of protecting me or a family. I wish I could explain to him that this is not true. "Did you come to watch me bake?" he asks.

I feel the corners of my lips rise because it is genuinely pleasurable to watch him bake. "Maybe," I say. He doesn't look away from his dough or react in anyway. "I missed you."

I catch his hesitation for only a fraction of a second before he starts kneading again. I wait but it doesn't look like a response is forthcoming. I want to run into his arms and tell him that I'm sorry and tell him I think he's perfect in every way. I want to beg for his forgiveness. I want him to come home with me and promise that the two of us alone are enough for a family. But I can't find it within myself to do any of that.

He starts forming the dough into perfect circles before placing them on a sheet to bake. A timer goes off and he takes a batch of cookies from the oven and replaces it with his newly prepared rack. It's then that he finally makes his way over to the table that I am sitting at. He sits across from me. It is exactly as it was three days ago, sitting opposite each other. We might as well be on opposites sides of the planet.

"I want you to come home," I tell him when he makes no move to speak.

"I want a wife who doesn't lie to me." Ouch. That one hurt. I try to protest but he continues, "We don't always get what we want, do we?"

"Peeta. I want you to come home," I tell him again because it's the only truth I know he won't doubt.

"Why did you do it, Katniss?"

I hesitate but then answer as honestly as I can. "I was scared that you wouldn't stay with me… if I wouldn't give you what you wanted."

"That's not what I'm talking about. But that does bring up another point. You think that I would leave you because you didn't want to have kids? How many times do I have to declare my love for you before you stop doubting me?" he articulates each question so exactly that I can tell he's been going over these questions in his head over and over.

"Peeta -," I start but he cuts me off.

"You don't have to answer because your actions give me all the answers I need," he interjects. "But like I said, that's not what I'm talking about. I want to know, why did you choose to me over Gale?"

I flinch at the insinuation. Peeta thinks that I don't want kids with him because I want Gale? "There was never a choice, Peeta. How could you even think –. "

"No, there wasn't a choice was there?" he cuts me off again. "Because Gale never came back. He made the choice for you." His words slice through me with a pain that only someone I love this much can inflict. I feel betrayed by his accusation.

"It was always you that I wanted," I try to convince him as calmly as possibly. My stomach knots and I squeeze my hands together to keep them from shaking. What have I done? He's questioning every motive behind every action I have ever made. I've broken us.

"I think you're lying again." I can see in his eyes, bitter with betrayal, that he is being honest. I did question my feelings for Gale but deep down I always wanted Peeta. How do I rephrase this without sounding like a fraud?

"I did have feelings for Gale at one point. But those feelings paled in comparison to how I felt about you. How I _feel_ about you." I reach for his hand, to my surprise, he lets me take it. Hopeful with his acceptance, I go on. "I was afraid you'd leave. I'm always afraid you'll leave. You are so much better than me. You deserve so much better than me." I can see his façade of anger fading. He knows I'm being truthful now.

"That's not true," he says, his eyes fixed on our hands.

"It is. If I wasn't horrible to you Snow never could have done what he did to you. I gave him all the ammo he needed to make you hate me. That was real, Peeta. Even you can't deny that."

His voice is low, almost a whisper, "This is exactly what I'm talking about. You don't trust me. You think there is a way that I could ever leave you."

"It's not because I don't trust you. It's me. I'm the problem here. Not you," I plead with him to believe me.

He pulls his hand from mine. I sense that he's about to make a move to leave so I stand and position my body in front of his. I place my hands on his shoulders, with no words left to say I try to hold his gaze long enough so he can see how much I need him.

He pulls my hands down slowly and rises. I want to wrap my arms around him but he doesn't give me the option. He's already pushing me to the side to tend to his baking.

"Will you come home now," I ask, as he turns his back to me.

"No," he tells me with decisiveness. "No, I won't Katniss. Because you still don't get it." He pulls his baking rack from the oven and places it with the others. It's only then he turns to look at me, to deliver the final blow. "You should go now."

The hysteria rising in my chest tells me I shouldn't go home and be alone so I detour to Haymitch's house. I don't bother knocking; I barge right in and go straight into the kitchen. I find him surprisingly alert eating a sandwich at his table. "Ever heard of knocking?" he asks, his mouth full of Peeta's bread. There's no time to answer his inconsequential question. If I don't do something to rid myself of Peeta's dismissal there's a very good chance I will turn catatonic with the colossal anguish that is slowly crushing me at this very moment.

"Do you have any more of that liquor?" I start opening and closing cabinets.

"What?" he asks. I can see he's frozen from the movement of eating and is watching me as I invade his privacy.

"You heard me." He tries to stalls my movements by standing directly in front of me. "Let's play that game again," I tell him.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"I'm just looking for your bottles," I say, trying to get around his objecting body.

"I can see that. Will you slow down, please?" He gently guides my movement away from his cabinets and eventually out of the kitchen. "Now, I don't know what's going on with you but you need to figure it out somewhere else. I'm all out of liquor and I'm a little edgy right now." Before I know it I'm being pushed out the front door. "I can't take your bad vibes today. Go."

"I can't go home," I plead with him, trying to wedge myself back into the doorframe.

"You don't have to go home. You just have to leave here." His door slams in my face and I'm left with nothing to drown the pain of Peetas rejection.

I spend the rest of the day trying to keep myself busy. I work on the lesson plans. I flip through our book and try to focus on our cumulative happy memories. I even try to paint a little. Overall, it's useless because everything in our house has been touched by Peeta. The darker the sky gets the more uneasy I become. I'm certain I can't make it through another night without him.

I lie in our bed and bury my face into his pillow trying to catch his intoxicatingly, comforting scent. His words reverberate in my mind. _You still don't get it, _he said. Get what? What had I said? He is better than me. That is true. He deserves better than me. That is also true, though, I would never let him go to find someone more worthy. Which only proves my point because he would have let me go if I chose Gale or anyone else. He'd want me to be happy. He loves me, I know that much. But there's no way to guarantee that he won't want to leave someday. That has to be what upset him the most. I questioned his devotion to our life here and, subsequently, his devotion to me. But how could I not? He doesn't know how he's going to feel tomorrow. Or in five years. Or ten. He has no idea what the future holds for us.

And then I comprehend completely. That's what he's been trying to get me see all along. I climb out of the bed and rush down the stairs. I don't bother putting a coat on or even shoes. The icy sheets of rain hit my face and sting my eyes. The rain is so thick I can hardly see two feet in front of me but this doesn't slow me down. I leap up Peeta's stairs and instead of knocking I go right in. The quiet is daunting. Though, it is in the middle of the night so it shouldn't surprise me that the lights are off and the house silent. I find him lying in his old bed.

"Couldn't sleep either?" he asks, startling me.

I have no plan. Really, all I want to do is climb into bed with him and wrap his arms around my body. Haymitch is right. I have Peeta and we have a beautiful life here. I need to stop sabotaging myself. To remedy this, I speak without thinking. I speak into the shadows and my words flow more seamlessly than they ever have before.


	7. Confessions

_Thanks to everyone who's been following this story (and insisting I hurry up with this chapter). It's a little short but I've already started on the next. Your reviews are greatly apprecaited. Enjoy!_

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not own the Hunger Games or any characters or settings related to the series. These belong to Suzanne Collins._

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My clothes are soaking wet. Rain droplets fall from my hair and explode into icy bullets as they land onto my bare feet. I shiver involuntarily with the freezing night still stuck to my body and although my lips quiver with cold I don't allow myself to be distracted.

"Peeta…I'm sorry," I start. "It's hard to accept that I get to keep you when so much has been taken from me and that's why I haven't told you how much I love you. That's why you don't know that I can't survive without you. It's only been three days and even though I know you're just two houses down I've been lost in your absence. You have to know I never doubted your devotion to me; I only doubt the stability of the world that we live in." The darkness makes his face impossible to see. I'm not even sure that his body is facing me. It makes no difference, the words continue to rush out of me.

"You are so free with your love and when we make love I become consumed with not wanting to get pregnant that I don't give myself to you the way I should. And for that I'm sorry. I have been sorry for that for months and I should have told you. I should tell you every single day that I love you. You should know, unquestionably, that there was never any choice between you or anyone else because there is no one else in this world that I trust to take care of me and protect me the way you will. I was sure I didn't want kids and I felt like I was betraying you by not making that clear. I did lie to you, at the time, anyway. I told you I thought I could change my mind but I didn't mean it. But now…I can admit that it could happen. Because the more I think about it the more I realize that this is the safest I've ever felt in my life. That is because of you. I think you would make an amazing father and I'd be lucky to be the mother of your children. I know I don't want that right now. But I also know that as long as you are with me this world is bearable. Life is worth living. This life, that we have created, is significant. It's worthy of sharing. Worthy of a family that is both you and I…created out of our love."

As soon as the words are out of my mouth I realize how much I mean them. I am also deeply aware of the fact that I have never felt so much in my life. I have never felt as alive as I do in this moment. I close my eyes trying to regain my composure after having vented every last secret, every lie, every fear, and every guilty thought I have out into the open. It's because of this I don't realize that Peeta has gotten out of bed. I don't expect the way his lips find mine and I certainly don't anticipate the way his hands grasp around my waist. Before I know it he's pulled me towards his bed. He sits and shifts my body between his legs where he desperately clings to me as if I'm the only life vest in his sea of despair.

It's not until I run my fingers across his back that I realize his shoulders are rising and falling with tears that I cannot see. Now I'm left without words. Are his tears of joy? Or does he doubt me again? I can't be concerned with the reason because at this moment my heart breaks for him either way. And then it is I who cannot control the tears that flow.

Lightening strikes outside the window and startles both of us from our embrace. Impatient to find his eyes I slump down in front of him and force him to look at me. In the dark I can just barely make out the redness, the puffiness of his eyes but I can see the tears cascading down his cheeks. He doesn't look angry. He doesn't even look hurt anymore. If I had to assign an emotion to his behavior I'd have to guess that he is moved. I want to press my lips to his but I refrain. I refrain because I'm almost certain that I am watching him fall in love with me all over again.

After what feels like a never ending stare he finally encircles me. I wait for him to say something. Anything. I'm thankful that I chose to speak without thinking because if I had known that I would be that honest – not with just him but with myself – I probably wouldn't have come. I would still be stuck in my head yearning for him. As he is pulling me into his bed I allude to the fact that I am still soaking wet. He stands and pulls off my shirt and then my pants. The window, though only barely ajar, hurls streaks of icy wind toward me and I'm desperate to be wrapped in his warm blankets. I am not disappointed. He slides into the bed with me and takes me into his arms. I feel myself breathe for the first time in days. It's then that I admit to myself that how foolish I was being.

I rejected a dream I had never dreamt. I took away his hope without ever understanding that there was hope to be had. I convinced myself there could be a day when Peeta left me when it's obvious that I would never let him go. If I had to stalk across the district, the country or the world to have him in my life I'd do it. I'd follow him anywhere he went because our love is unyielding. It leaves no room for questioning or fear. It is too strong for those trivial suspicions. Our love is too powerful to restrain. Our love would overflow and create new life if I let it. It would be effortless because there is so much to give. So much to share.

The peace I feel embraced by him flows through my body relaxing it almost instantaneously - so much so that I'm startled when he finally calls out my name.

"Katniss…," he wavers. His lips are close to my ear as my forehead rests against his collarbone. I want to move so I can see his eyes but his arms are a fortress around me, trapping me in his hesitation. "I never knew you felt that way about me," he finally chokes out and I can tell that he is softly crying again.

Guilt washes over me. After everything we've been through he still didn't understand how much he meant to me? This is my fault. I put up a wall around myself impenetrable to even the one person for which I live my life for. I should be the one comforting him but I can't contain the grief that I feel at this revelation. I cry for the pain that I have put him through and for wasted days of questioning what we were to each other. I tell him over and over how sorry I am. I promise that he will never have to doubt my feelings again. And I swear to tell him and show him every single day for the rest of our lives how much I need and appreciate him.

Somewhere between our cries and our embrace our lips desperately find one another. I don't wait for him to choose to undress. I pull at the bottom of his shirt until he takes it off with his pants. I don't wait for him to do anything for that matter. It's not that I need him. It's much more than that. It's as if I feel like the very essence of my being will cease to exist if I don't join myself to him immediately. This time is different than any other time we have shared because this is the first time that I have admitted how much I need him. How much he is to me. I give myself to him unequivocally. It doesn't even occur to me to stop and get a condom. Stopping the way his hands and lips are caressing my body is not an option. The tears haven't stopped, I'm still raw and vulnerable from my confessions but this doesn't take away from our lovemaking. It amplifies it.

If I thought I felt alive before I was wrong. Nothing compares to the way I feel now. Instead of worrying about getting pregnant and feeling guilty about everything I've done to him my mind is free as he glides in and out of my body. It's almost like it was the first time but better. Better because each I love you means more. And better because he finally realizes that his love for me is reciprocated. I love him back and I need him just as much – if not more - as he needs me.

Peeta lasts well into the morning despite the fact that my body has convulsed with writhing pleasure multiple times. This is probably because he keeps stopping to stare into my eyes. Like he's trying to make sure this is real without asking the question. The first time he stopped I thought something was wrong. I was about to ask him if everything was okay but he silenced my lips with his finger. It trailed down my jaw to my neck, over my shoulders and past the swell of my breast before eventually caressing the curvature of my hip. He caressed with the back of one finger, then two, which turned into three, into four, before his entire hand gripped my hip closer to him effectively restarting the process of making love all over again.

Even though I love the feeling of his weight on top of me we reposition ourselves repeatedly. It's not consciously. Our bodies just rearrange themselves as we move from one side of the bed to the other and back again all the while never exiting our union.

As he comes closer to releasing the massive build up of hours of love making I can feel a hesitation that is all too familiar. He searches my eyes for a sign that he should stop; a sign that we should protect ourselves from an unwanted pregnancy but I don't have the strength to pull myself away from him now. So before he can say anything I crush my lips to his and move my body in a way that will guarantee he will not stop me. I am grateful for the thunder and lightning storm outside because it promises to cover up the moans of pleasure that escape my mouth.

Afterwards he holds me close to him, our bodies still connected, mine straddling his. We are both sweating, our bodies convulsing internally, when my tears reappear. They aren't for guilt this time. No, this time they are for hope. Because for the first time, in my short life, I feel hope for something better.


	8. Promises to be Kept

_This was a hard chapter for me. I think I'm getting writers block! Hopefully the next will come easier than this one did. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless._

**_Disclaimer: _**_I don't know own the Hunger Games or any of the characters. These belong to Suzanne Collins._

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"I know what you remind me of!" Haymitch belligerently belts out. He's holding his liquor in a metal flask which he keeps pulling out from his coat to sip when he thinks no one is looking. I pull my legs up to my chest and hug them, trying to keep warm, as I sit in front of the school where the construction workers, volunteers and Peeta are building. The wood for the walls have gone up and now they're prepping bricks for to line them. I sit a distance away so as not to distract him but still in a place where I can watch him at all times. "You're like a lost puppy. That's exactly what is!" he exclaims taking a swig from his flask. His wide shoulders are rolling with a laughter that I do not comprehend.

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

"A lost puppy. Or better yet, like that damn cat. I think that's a better way to put it." He hiccups and takes another drink.

I was using his shoulder next to mine as a sort of body heat but clearly the unfamiliar act of physical interaction is making him crazy. I slowly scoot my body away from his. I watch Peeta work. He's cut his blonde curls off and has been wearing a much shorter hairstyle. It makes him look older and more rugged. It's beyond sexy. I smile to myself, how lucky I am to get to take him home with me every night.

Haymitch hiccups again. "You follow him around like that cat follows me around. Room to room, begging me to love it. It's pathetic."

I peer at him sideways, through the hair that's pulled around my face, looking for traces that he has fallen into some hallucinatory state of mind. I scoot a little further away.

"I see what you're doing." He moves closer to me to close the gap. "Stop. I'm too drunk to be moving. Horizontally or laterally. It's too damn cold out here."

"I think you're losing it, old man," I say, patting him on the back.

"You're the one that's losing it. What happened to you? You used to be Katniss Everdeen - _The Mockingjay – Girl on Fire!_" he exclaims, and starts laughing boisterously. "Now you're just Peeta's wife. Is that what you fought that war for?"

"What are you talking about?" I demand, louder than I should. I don't know why I go anywhere with him when he's been drinking. He's completely incoherent.

"I'm talking about you, sweetheart. Following Peeta around like a lost puppy, like you're heart is going to stop if you aren't with him at all times. You two have been inseparable for weeks. Don't think I haven't noticed. What I want to know is," hiccup, "what changed?"

I sigh at the predicament. I seek Haymitch out for advice and now he thinks he can ask me any question he wants. I have to give a little to get a little so I decide to give him an answer.

"I did," I say, with resolve.

"Well obviously! I can see that. I want to know, why?" he specifies.

"What does it matter? We're happy," I snap at him. He tries my patience like no one else can.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to see you happy. I'm just saying I never thought I'd see the day when you'd lose that lovable scowl of yours." He reaches over and pinches my cheeks with his fingers which stink of alcohol. "Oh, there it is!" he exclaims, when I squirm away from him, with an exasperated expression.

"You are a drunken old man. Leave me alone," I tell him.

I walk across the street to the new grocery storefront. There is a bench out front that I occupy frequently when Peeta is working on the school. This has become his most important project. He doesn't deny that he is anxious for me to start working. He put this project above rebuilding the bakery, arguing that he can use his old Victor house until it's ready. I don't let this bother me.

I don't let anything bother me anymore. After Peeta and I resolved our issues it's impossible for me to get upset about anything. How can I? I have nothing to be concerned with. I have a roof over my head, food in my stomach, and the man that I love in my arms each night. The nightmares are less frequent than they were before. Peeta's too. It feels like ever since I finally let my guard to him that a weight was lifted.

Without all that pent up angst I find there is more room for simple things. Like laughter. We laugh constantly. Over the stupidest things. Like the way Buttercup insists on peeing on Haymitch's pillow. We find this hilarious. Simple things like reading. In preparation of my lesson plans the Capital sent me tons of books to study.

The first batch they sent was for the Science class. I had no idea why they thought to send me books on Quantum Theory and the General and Special Theories of Relativity. I didn't even open the books until a week after they arrived. But then one day I got bored and started sifting through them. It's fascinating. And surprising applicable.

In Quantum Mechanics, it is thought that the act of looking at something determines its state of being. But some ancient scientist named Einstein criticized this, saying, "I like to think the moon is there even if I am not looking at it." At first I just glanced over the quote. But then when I was lying in bed that night I thought about how true the words are. My mother is alive and well despite the fact that I can't see her. The more I thought about this the more at peace I became with her absence.

The Special Theory of Relativity says that perception is relative to the observer's frame of reference. So even if I have fleeting moments where I think that I am a horrible person and that Peeta could decide to leave at any moment it doesn't matter because Peeta sees me as perfect. He would never leave me. It's relative. Of course, how I'm going to teach this to children is a task I have not yet endeavored to accomplish.

I'm surprised at the perceptiveness of the old man. I suppose I have been following Peeta around like a lost puppy. I can't help it though. I want to be with him all the time. Constantly. I feel like I have years of not loving him back to make up for. He's been through this already - this head over heels stupidity. I didn't intend to want to be with him all the time. It just happened after our talk. I don't think I am the only one either. He hasn't protested my following him around. He hasn't asked for space. I think he's enjoying this new level of commitment as much as I am.

When he approaches me after his work day we stroll through the town toward our house. I note the way that I cling to him. I never did before. Maybe that's what Haymitch is talking about. I unlatch my arm from the crook of his elbow, settling on lacing my fingers with his. He doesn't notice. When we walk into the house we both get ready for art therapy. We're working on a piece together. It's a huge canvas that takes up nearly an entire wall. Let's be honest, he's working on it, I'm ruining it. Of course, we are working on this together because I refused to sit on the other side of the room – so far away from him. So I kept moving closer and closer to the point where we were on the same canvas.

Okay, maybe I am clinging then. But who cares?

We make love every night, most mornings and sometimes in the afternoons, too. It's constant. We don't use condoms anymore. We're trying a new method. The pull out method. So far, so good. Haymitch and Greasy Sae would kill us if they knew. We promised we'd get settled first before we made any big decisions. Peeta needs to get the bakery built; I have to find my place at the school. We know condoms are the best way to ensure I don't get pregnant but after everything that's happened between us it seems trivial. Sure, I don't want a baby right now. But someday I might. Our love feels too good to put a barrier between it. It's our love that consumes us to the point where we can love without worrying of the consequences. If that love makes something of the both of us then so be it.

So this night is not specifically unlike any others.

His breath is hot on my neck. The sheen of sweat on his forehead is pressed up against my cheek; I can feel the silky sheets underneath my breasts and stomach as he adjusts himself on top of me. He's breathing hard but making special consideration not to put all of his weight on me.

"Are you okay?" he asks in a gulp of air.

"Yeah," I tell him through labored breaths. "Are _you_?"

"I think so," he says with humor.

I don't know how we got into this position. One minute my back was cradled against his chest, his arms wrapped around me. The next, clothes were being taken off, body parts were being caressed, we were moving and rolling, sharing lost whispers of want and need, then finally he was behind me, pressing into my body, and then it all mixed together. The movement, kissing, his lips, my moans, the words, the touches, the breaths so deep I nearly blacked out.

"Are you sure?" I ask him again.

"I don't want to move," he says, trying to catch his breath.

"Don't. Please." I lace my fingers into his above my head, and push my hips back into him. His lips find the back of my neck and he's moving again. I'm amazed at how I never knew he could be inside me this way. Position mattered. Because angles mattered. Because the angle in which he entered me mattered. And this just became my new favorite. Clearly my appreciation for it is shared.

"Katniss," he whispers hot in my ear.

"What?" I ask into the pillow.

"I have to stop…" He's gasping for air, I can feel the muscles in his arms protesting, the slickness of his naked chest sliding against my bare back tells me he's perspiring with the effort.

"Okay," I tell him. He slides off of my back and onto his stomach where he finally regains his breath. I smile into the night when I see the clock. We had been making love for an hour and he was exhausted from not moving from our accidental position.

"You're amazing," I tell him sincerely.

He smiles rolling onto his back. I want to return the favor but I'm not sure if he can take it. I prop myself up onto my elbow and find his eyes.

"Are you done?" I ask.

He laughs. "I'm not sure…give me a minute." I don't wait a minute. Instead I climb on top of him, straddling his hips. He gives an exhausted sigh of satisfaction before he grabs onto me, guiding my motion.

"You win," he whispers, his smile fading into ecstasy.

The next morning Peeta makes an unexpected announcement.

"I have surprise for you," he says.

"You do?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Tell me now," I demand.

"Nope," he returns with a smile. He picks up his plate and places it in the sink. "It'll be here this afternoon. If you could just please use it to the best of your ability and be ready when I get home."

He passes behind me, giving me a kiss on the top of my head.

"Tell me now," I say again as he's putting his coat on to head out for the day.

"Nope," he repeats himself. As he leaves I furrow my brows to express my anger but this only makes his smile of victory wider.

When the package arrives I'm dumbfounded at its contents. How was I supposed to use this?

* * *

"This is …different," I smile, uncomfortably.

"I know. But different isn't bad is it?" he asks, sipping the newly imported Capital champagne.

"No, not bad." I run my fingers over the red slinky silk fabric of my dress. Peeta really, really wanted to go dinner at Sae's new restaurant in town. The dress, his surprise, is supposed to be a gift. It feels like a punishment. Obviously, I objected. But then he seemed so excited. And he did put effort into the planning.

"It's the dress isn't it?" he asks.

"No, no. The dress is beautiful." For someone else maybe. Not me. "So, are you going to tell me why we're here?"

"I'm not allowed to take my wife to a nice dinner?"

"You're full of questions tonight. I don't like it," I tell him, crossing my arms to my chest. Partially out of annoyance. Partially trying to move his eyes up to my face from the swell of my exposed breasts. He notices and laughs.

"There is something I want to talk to you about," he admits. I knew it. "Plutarch called me." Oh, great. Plutarch has been relentless. He wants us to go to the Capital to tape a special on our lives here in 12. He thinks it would be good for the country to see that we are adjusting well to the new way of life. Plus, he is determined to announce to the world that I'm actively taking a job in the district at the school. He thinks it will inspire others to take district jobs. People are still weary of the government, let alone government jobs. All of these things have been discussed and rejected – several times.

"No," I tell him firmly.

"Wait, will you please hear me out?" he asks, reaching for my hand.

"I can't believe you. You brought me here, in public, to try to convince me to go to the Capital? Of all places? You know that I never, ever want to go back there. Ever!" I catch sideways glances from other patrons in the restaurant but I don't care. These people all think I am crazy anyway. Who cares what they think? I grab my coat off of the back of my chair and storm outside. There is snow on the ground and its freezing. Which makes me hate this stupid dress even more.

Parachutes dropping. Bombs exploding. People dying. Prim dying. Finnicks head being taken off. My arrow in Coin's chest. The room they used to imprison me during my trial. Gale.

"Katniss," Peeta calls out. He reaches for my hand but I flinch away.

"Leave me alone," I tell him. I start the walk back to our house.

"I wish you would just hear me out," he says, trailing behind me.

"No. I don't want to hear what you have to say." I stop and turn so I can see his face. "Why would you even want to go back there? How can you even stand to think about being near where they tortured you?"

"That's what I want to talk to you about," he grabs my hand, "Can we please go back inside and finish our dinner? And talk about this?"

"I'm not going back in there," I turn around and start walking again.

My shoes dip into the grainy snow making it impossible to walk straight. Peeta reaches out his hand to steady me. I take it. We walk in silence, snow crunching under our feet. It's not until we reach our porch that he speaks.

"I've been feeling better lately. But…I don't know if that's because of you," he caresses my cheek, "or because I'm actually better. We're not being careful about having sex, Katniss. Obviously we're not trying to get pregnant but we aren't doing anything, really, to prevent it. If you get pregnant, I want to be perfect for you. Healthy. Sane. What if he, or she," he corrects, "comes and I'm triggered by something. What if I'm not safe around you?"

I understand what he's saying. I've felt it to. It's like we live in a bubble. Our own world where we've convinced ourselves that everything that happened was just a bad nightmare. Unreal. I worry about seeing my mother or Annie or anyone else from my past. Gale. Will it trigger all of the horrors? And if they come back how long will it take to go away? Will I be nearly comatose? What if I have a child that needs me and I can't get out of bed?

"I think…" he struggles. "I think it would be good for us to face it again. Now. See how we're really coping," he finishes.

He has a point. I did promise I'd follow him all over the country if that's what it took to be with him. I will not make that a lie too.

"Okay," I tell him, not bothering to put up a fight. "On one condition."

"Anything," he promises.

"Haymitch has to come too," I stipulate. If I'm going to face the Capital I need my mentor.


	9. Two Parts, One Being

_Thanks to everyone for the encouragement after my writer's block. All of your reviews inspire me! I didn't expect this chapter to end up the way it did but I guess that's the way writing goes. I hope you enjoy it. Reviews are always appreciated. _

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Hunger Games or characterss. These belong to Suzanne Collins._

* * *

The evenly spaced lights of the tunnel are shining through the bedroom window. Light, dark, light, dark. Dark. The train is quiet in the middle of the night but I still can't sleep. As always, I take comfort in feeling Peeta's sleeping body pressed up against mine. He wanted to take a hovercraft but I insisted on the train. I have fond memories of feeling safe with him on trains. No matter how superficial that safety was then. I should be sleeping. We have a big, big, big day tomorrow, I think to myself and laugh.

The next time the train stops we'll be in 4. Peeta said we could stop in 2 if I wanted. To see Gale. But I told him that wasn't necessary. If he wanted to see me he would have by now. I don't know how I feel about seeing my mother. I understand why she hasn't been to visit me but she could call more. She could at least pretend she cares about how I am doing.

I squirm from his arms and stand up, stretching my arms above my head. I go out into the hall way, where the dim lights above illuminate all of the closed cabin doors. Only one has light coming through the bottom. I knew I could count on him to be sleepless with me.

I knock on the door and don't get an immediate reply so I let myself in.

His back is turned towards me. He has something in his hands I can't see. He hides it before he turns around. "Hi," I say.

"How many times do we have to go over this?" Haymitch asks, in a huff.

He makes his hand into a fist, "You go like this," he knocks on his bed frame. "_Then_ you wait for someone to invite you in. It's not rocket science, sweetheart."

"Whatever," I tell him, sitting on the chair by his bed. "What are you doing?"

"None of your business. Go away."

"No. I can't sleep."

"Good," he says tersely.

"You aren't still mad are you?" I chide.

"I don't know what I am doing here. I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

"Come on, what else were you going to do while we were gone?" I ask.

"That's not the point. I'm not your babysitter. I shouldn't have to be here."

"You don't _have_ to be anywhere. You know you wanted to come," I try to convince him.

"No. I did not." He takes a long drink from his flask.

"What are you hiding over there?" I ask, motioning to his hand.

"None of your business. Go away," he repeats himself. I cross my arms and wait for a response. We sit in silence for endless minutes. I can see him growing frustrated and I smile at him when he catches my eye. I'm not going anywhere and we both know it. He lets out an exasperated sigh and flings the object into my lap.

There are evenly spaced black beads on a thin string that come together in a circle then the lead off into one string. At the bottom of the rows they come to a point where the beads end and in their place is a cross.

"A necklace?" I ask, examining the delicate hand crafted object of Haymitch's affection.

"A rosary," he says in a gruff voice. "It was my mother's."

Haymitch has a mother. That never occurred t me. "A rosary?" I repeat.

"Yeah. Is something wrong with your ears? Do I need to repeat it again?" he rips it from my hands.

"It's pretty," I tell him.

"It's not just a necklace. It's more than that. At least she thought it was."

"How?" I ask.

"If I tell you will you go away?" he asks, angrily. What a grouch.

"Maybe," I tell him.

"She thought it was a promise," he says.

"How could a necklace be a promise?" I ask, my brow furrowing with confusion.

"It's not the _rosary_," he says, giving me a curt look, "that's the promise. It's what the rosary stands for."

"What's that?"

"Life, after this…without pain," he finishes. He lies down on his bed and closes his eyes, clutching the rosary to his chest. I wonder if I'll ever understand all that he's been through. I feel bad for being mean to him all the time.

"You can leave now," he says. And now I don't feel bad anymore.

When I make it back to my room I accidentally wake Peeta up.

"What are you doing?" he whispers to me.

"I couldn't sleep," I say burying my face into his chest. He kisses my forehead. Such a small gesture but it creates such phenomenal feelings inside me. "I love you," I tell him. But he's already sleeping.

I lie awake for most of the rest of the night. Thinking. The closer we get to the Capital the more I feel like I'm suffocating. I know we need this but I wish we could just turn back. I like our life in 12. We have a good life. I hate to admit it but I have to. I'm afraid. Of what we'll see. Who we'll see. What's it going to be like to face Plutarch in person? Plus, how can we not stop to see Annie? We have to. But how I can see her and not see Finnick? Finnick. I miss him. Just thinking his name hurts. I feel like he saved my life over and over. Physically and mentally. I finally drift to sleep focusing on the rhythm of Peeta's breathing. It's the lullaby that brings me peace in the darkness.

When we get off the train I feel like I've been punched in the face. Not because my mom isn't waiting for us. That I would expect. But because of who is waiting for us.

Gale.

Peeta is equally as taken by surprise as I am. He shifts uncomfortably next to me, unsure of what I want him to do. I'm thankful that he has my hand because squeezing it is all I can do to keep from being taken under by the rush of emotions flooding me. Haymitch stumbles off the train and forward our backs, nearly pushing us over.

"Did you forget how to walk?" he slurs, angrily. Peeta release me to help him get his footing.

"Did you forget to watch where you're going?" Peeta replies in an equally facetious tone.

"Oh, let me go. Don't baby me," Haymitch says. "What are you two waiting for anyway?" Then he sees him. He straightens his posture, emphasizing his presence on our side of the line. Specifically, his presence on Peeta's side of this awkward encounter.

My mom comes out from behind him. "Katniss!" she exclaims. She throws herself around me but I can't take my eyes off Gale. It's hard to believe he is really here. Why is here? And why didn't my mother warn me? "It's so good to see you," she says, taking my face into her hands. I can see a thousand moments of pain flicker in her eyes when she looks at me. I remind her so much of death. The last surviving member of her family. I know she would trade me for either of the two lost. I think she knows I know. "Gale's here!" she shrieks. She sounds nervous.

"Well, no shit," Haymitch says next to me. I suppress a laugh. He took the words right out of my mouth. My mom moves uneasily to stand next to Gale. And there it is. Them versus us, facing off between an invisible line. I've never felt so connected to Haymitch before. He's more of a father to me then her a mother.

"Gale," Peeta says next to me. "Good to see you." He reaches out his hand in gesture. Gale shakes it and smiles towards him before meeting my eyes again. I realize everyone's waiting for me to react. So they can react.

"Katniss," Gale says to me, formally. "Hello." I stare but don't speak. It's like the world has stopped. Everything around me is waiting for me to propel it back into motion. I don't. But, luckily, I have Peeta.

"I'll get the luggage. Come on, old man," he says to Haymitch. Haymitch hesitates leaving my side. He catches my eye to make sure I am okay. I nod, still unable to find words so he leaves with Peeta. My mom follows after to help them. And then it's just the two of us.

I've never seen Gale so unsure of himself before. He looks like the young boy I first started hunting with. In presence anyway. In actuality, he looks like a full grown…man. I try to remember how long it's been since I was shipped back home. A year, two…maybe longer. All of the dark days seem to blend together. I didn't really start living again until Peeta and I… I twist my wedding ring around and around on my ring finger. Gale notices.

"Hi," I say quietly, to get his attention off of my ring.

When everyone arrives with the luggage we make our way back to my mom's house. It's a quaint house for one person. Nothing overtly reminiscent of my mom's style really. But wasn't that the point? To escape from all that was before. She seems to be holding up okay. There's a gentleman neighbor that she seems to have a nice rapport with. This makes me smile. I want her to love again. Even if I know it's not me.

Peeta helps me through dinner. He is as charismatic as ever. My mom seems completely at ease with Gale. And it dawns on me. She doesn't know. How could she? Weaponry of district 13 and the brains behind it were classified. It makes me sick to my stomach. Gale has some nerve to assume that I didn't tell her.

I catch him staring at me and then quickly looking away. Of course, he realizes I just figured this out. He can read me like no one else can. And he knows I wouldn't do that to her. He must have really wanted to see me to put himself in this situation. But why? After dinner, Haymitch finds his way up the stairs. We don't expect to see him again. My mom announces that she has to run to the store to get a few things for breakfast. She asks Peeta if he wants to join her. She's so obvious. Peeta is too much of a gentleman to say no though.

"What are you going to say to him?" Peeta asks in front of the house, as he waits for my mom.

I shake my head, not having an answer. I put my arms around his shoulders and take a deep breath. I should deal with it now. That's what this trip is supposed to be about. I kiss his neck out of habit. It feels good to know that whatever happens next I'll get to be snuggled up against him in bed in a few hours.

"I can stay," he tells me. "I'll do whatever you want."

"I know," I smile. It's temping. "I'll be fine," I promise. "This is what we're here for right?"

"Yeah. A little notice would have been nice though." He tightens his arms around me. "Do you feel okay?"

"I think so," I admit. He waits for me to continue. "It's not pain like I thought it'd be. It's something else."

His blue eyes watch me, looking for a way to read my thoughts. He gives up. "Something else?"

"Yes."

"What?" he asks.

"I don't know yet," I say.

We stand at opposite sides of the kitchen. Awkwardly. He looks good. Really good. His body has muscle, but not in the way he gained muscles hunting and mining, in another way I can't figure out. His skin is healthy and glowing; his eyes deep as ever. His hands catch my attention as he fiddles with a napkin. They are strong and sturdy, just the way I remember them. I remember being in the woods with him and feeling like two parts of the same being. Feeling like we moved as one, in body and mind. I forgot how much I miss that.

I cross the room so I'm standing directly in front of him. He doesn't look at me, but I can tell he's nervous. His hands keep fidgeting. I move even closer. So close that my chest is just inches from his and look up into his eyes.

It's a weird feeling that I have then. Maybe because I didn't know what I'd find. Maybe because it's been so long. But when I see his grey eyes, so similar to mine, it makes me think of home. Not my old home in the Seam. Or the new house with Peeta. But a home within myself. A place where I was safe and free. A place where I knew who I was, not what was projected upon me. Where I was a part of something other than myself but more myself then I could comprehend.

Two parts, one being.

I want to feel his arm around my shoulder, casual and comfortable, like before. I lean against the counter next to him, our bodies touching, and wait. For anything. The house is quiet. Haymitch must have passed out already. I thought Peeta and my mom would be back by now. I feel like precious seconds are passing. Like this is the only time we'll have. But I don't know time for what yet.

"I couldn't go back," Gale finally says. "I wanted to. But when I found out Peeta was going once he was released I knew I didn't stand a chance." He stayed away to let Peeta have me? That doesn't sound right. "Then they offered me a job, far away from you. 12…Seemed like a good distraction."

The air between is dense. Filled with memories of our former lives. It's palpable. Intrusive.

"I didn't know…if you'd even want to see me. I heard that you were having a hard time but I was too much of a coward to reach out to you. I knew you wouldn't stop in 2. That's why I came here. I had to see you."

I don't remember Gale being this articulate. It feels like he's been rehearsing this but the way he stumbles over his words tells me he hasn't. I don't know what to say to him. I want to reach over and hug his body to mine but how can I? The last time we spoke we both openly admitted that his bomb…

I can't even think the words.

"I can go," he says. I hadn't noticed he was watching me. My face must be twisted in the recollection of our last encounter. He starts to move away, throwing the napkin on the counter when I finally find my voice.

"No," I manage. "Stay."

He moves back next to me against the counter. Back to the silence. How do I feel about Gale? My first reaction to him was shock. But that was because of the surprise of it all. Now, adjusting to him being here, in the flesh, and not in my thoughts, I'm not in shock. I don't think I am angry. I feel sadness but it's not because of Prim. It's something multifaceted and I don't know where to begin to make sense of it. So instead, I just reach for him.

At first I just take his hand. But the warmth of the sturdy hands that I once trusted so much is not enough. I reach my hands around his waist and try that out. It feels abnormal. Or maybe amoral. Again, I don't know where to start to try to figure this feeling out. I find his eyes again. They are openly in pain. Struggling. Does he feel guilty? Is that why he won't reach for me too? His lower lip quivers. He's trying hard not to cry. But why?

I want to know if this is real. Is this feeling inside me, desperate to be connected with him again, real? A tear cascades down his cheek but he never takes his eyes off of mine. Then I lose it. I didn't know I was holding back tears until then. I'm crying and clinging to him. To lost friendships. To lost lives. I cling to my lost future and it's painful. It's the most pain I've experienced since I recovered from Prim. He finally extends his arms around me now. I move mine up around his shoulders and bury my face into his neck and cry. For everything and nothing at all.

He's crying too and mumbling something I can't understand. His body shakes with the words he desperately wants me to hear. I don't know if I'm ready to hear them though. All I know is that I just found a part of me I thought was long gone. I found the home within myself in the arms of my former future. And it dawns on me…I don't think they can survive, one without the other. This feeling inside me is only present with Gale.

I was self sufficient with him. Even though we moved like one person I was always sure of myself. I was always myself. Now I depend on Peeta. I can't survive without him. My whole life is based on being with him every feasible second that I can.

For a moment I remember the feeling of being enough for myself. Gale was always there but I wasn't tethered to him the way I am with Peeta. He allowed me to move on my own. To breathe. And it wasn't because we talked all of our feelings out. It was because he just knew. His intuition was connected with mine on a level Peeta probably will never reach.

How many hours of conversations have we shared? How many times have we sat in silence, no words needed? We didn't need to talk to know what the other was thinking or feeling. Being with Gale was always effortless. And then I wonder… how many times did I try to convince myself to feel something with Peeta when I never had to convince myself with Gale? Where did those feelings go?

I don't think I ever really could place the blame of Prim's death on him. He may have designed the bomb but he didn't intend for what happened. He intended it for other families, other sisters, but not mine. Not ours. Maybe that is the worst part. Because no matter whom the intent was towards it was there. He was blinded by murderous rage and he didn't think of the consequences. But I too have killed. Not indirectly like him but with purpose. Calculated purpose, even. So who I am to judge him? To be angry? I'm no better than he is.

Then I find my head. Because Peeta is better than me. Peeta is better than all of us. He came back to me not knowing if I would ever be with him. And then he married me not knowing how truly in love with him I was. He's been selfless and he's never judged me. He loved me before I even knew Gale. Whereas Gale, it seems, only wanted me after Peeta came into my life. Did this make him realize his feelings for me? Or did he just want what he could no longer have?

I want to ask Gale all of these questions but I know he already knows. He knows every thought going through my head right now. He feels everything that I'm feeling and he's mourning for it all. Because it's too late now. No matter what the answers to the questions are, no matter what our feelings were for each other then, or even still now, it's too late. Too much has happened.

But if I know all of this, then why do my arms refuse to let him go?


	10. Nostalgia

_I loved all of your strong reviews for the last chapter. The next one (after this) is already done, I'm just editing it now so it should be up soon. Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing!_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Hunger Games or any characters. These belong to Suzanne Collins._

* * *

It's dark outside when we hear the front door open. Neither Gale nor I have bothered to let go of one another to turn the kitchen light on. I _should_ let go now. There's no reason why anyone should see this but, again, my arms refuse it. The crying has stopped. So have the mumbling confessions. I finally caught what he was saying. It was just one thing over and over. I'm sorry. I guess he didn't really need to say anything else. A blanket I'm sorry for everything that happened. I'm surprised at how sufficient this actually feels. I'm glad he didn't say the other thing. The thing we both know he is thinking. There's only one reason you look at someone that way. Only one reason you clutch onto someone the way he is clutching to me. He loves me and it's written all over his actions. So why am I clutching to him the same way?

"Katniss?" Peeta asks into the dark kitchen. The light goes on and there we are. We had slumped to the floor and I managed to make it onto his lap. My arms are wrapped so tightly around his shoulders that I wonder how he's even been able to breathe. His face is lost in my hair, deep in the crook of my neck. "Katniss?" Peeta asks again. I can't even look at him. How horrible for him to see this.

Gale pulls away from me and I reluctantly let go of his shoulders. He gets me off of his lap but I refuse to get off the floor. I push my forehead to my bent knees and close my eyes. I can't stand to see Peeta's reaction to this.

Gale is standing now and I can only imagine he is facing Peeta. I wait for them to exchange words. Instead silence envelops the moment. Then there are footsteps and the front door opens and shuts again.

I resign myself to see who is left standing.

Peeta crouches next to me. He wipes newly formed tears from my cheeks. He doesn't look upset. He actually looks sympathetic. Of course, he doesn't want me to be in pain. His eyes are an ocean of blue, calm and understanding. Unwavering. They jolt me back to reality. I reach for him and he secures me in his abyss of protection.

"Let's go to bed, Katniss," he finally says. We find our way up the stairs and into the guest room. Once we are under the sheets and in the darkness he starts to try to understand.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"I don't know," I say.

"Did you figure out what the feeling was? You said it wasn't pain, that it was something else," he says recalling our conversation before he left with my mom.

"Yeah, I did," I reply.

"What was it?" he asks. The question hangs in the air before I finally admit it.

"Nostalgia."

The memories inundate my mind.

_We sat in front of my fireplace. Mom and Prim had gone to bed. It was late for him to be over but my mom hardly cared. _

_"You should get going. We have school in the morning," I reminded him._

_"Pshh. School. Who needs school when you have a fire and Katniss Everdeen," Gale joked, putting his arm around my shoulder. I leaned into him as I so often did. _

_I didn't try to fight him because really I didn't want him to leave. The house always felt safer when he was over. We didn't have anything to talk about. We weren't in the middle of any important conversation. We just sat together, finding comfort in each other's company. _

_"Fine, I'll go," he says after a few minutes. _

_I refuse to move my leaning body on his so he can get up. "No. Stay," I tell him. _

_He settles back down next to me and sighs deeply like he's more relaxed now then he has been all day. I feel the same way. _

_"What do I get if I beat you?" he asks, examining the tree before us. _

_"You don't have to worry about that," I tell him, with a smile. "Because you're going to lose." _

_"What makes you so sure?" he asks, moving forward until our chests are touching and my back is up against the bark. _

_"I'm better than you, Gale," I tease him. "At everything."_

_"Well, what do you get if you beat me?" he asks. His hands press up against the tree, trapping me inside the armor of his warm body. _

_"Anything I want," I tell him, leaning up so my eyes are as close to square with his as I can manage. He body slinks down to help me. _

_"You can't do that," he says, shaking his head in disapproval. _

_"Yes, I can."_

_"You don't make the rules," he counters. _

_"Fine," I allow. "If I win you have to carry my books to and from school for the rest of the week."_

_A mischievous grin breaks across the face. He's trying not to laugh. I can't help but let out a tiny snicker myself. "That's deplorable," he finally says, with mock disgust. _

_"And Prim's," I add. _

_"You're a monster," he says, his forehead resting on mine. It's cold out and his body close to mine is warm and reassuring. "If I win," he continues, "you have to make me dinner." _

_"You're whole family?" I object. "That's not even close to the same thing!"_

_"Fine. Just me," he clarifies. His arms find their way around my waist but I push him away before they can embrace me. _

_"You're on," I agree. I see a flicker of defeat in his eyes when I turn my back to him. But hadn't I agreed to what he wanted?_

_"On your mark," he says. We both face the tree, our hands out in front of us. "Get set." When he says go I shove him as hard as I can. He almost falls over and I grab onto the tree and am up it before he's even had a chance to recover from my unfair play. _

_"I win!" I yell down to him. He doesn't argue. His smile only grows wider. _

_I sit through history class counting the minutes until I can leave this miserable building. I want to be outside. I want to feel fresh air in my lungs. I sit next to the window so I can watch the trees move with the wind. The leaves are changing color. Our favorite time of year. He's waiting for me after class. We lay in the woods together. My head rests on his lap while I stare up at the different colors. I don't know what he thinks about. Whatever it is he seems peaceful. When I close my eyes for long periods of time I can feel him staring at me. I wonder what's so interesting about me when there's so much else to see. When I catch him he quickly turns away and I laugh. I can feel his fingers threaded in my hair and it feels good. I don't want to be anywhere else in the world then in this moment with Gale. _

_I see Posy's head bouncing through the crowd. Far higher than any of the other heads. I call out her name but she can't hear me. I push myself through so I am right behind her then I see him. She's straddled on his shoulders. Her dark hair bouncing up and down with her brother's pace. I wrap my arm around his waist and fall in stride with them. I look up at them both and smile. _

_"Where are we going?" I ask. _

_"We're going to the Hob," Gale says. He tries to reach down and kiss my head but the toddler on his shoulders prevents it. I shrug my shoulders at his effort. _

_"Give her to me," I tell him, reaching my hands up for her. She falls into my arms comfortably and I kiss her cold cheeks. She's a bundle of warmth. Gale puts his arm around my shoulders. "What are you going for?" I ask._

_"No reason," he says. "Just going for a walk. Where are you going?"_

_"Looking for you," I tell him, rubbing my nose against Posy's. She laughs. _

_"What for?" he asks._

_"No reason," I say, mimicking his nonchalant style. _

_"You are so stubborn!" Gale yells. I go further into the woods toward the stream. "I'm not going to follow you around all day!" I ignore him and keep up my pace. He most certainly will follow me, I think. "Katniss!"_

_Then I have to stop because he called me Katniss. Which means he's really irritated. I turn around and face him. His cheeks are red. I don't know if that's from anger or because he's cold. Either way, I laugh. And this makes him angrier. "Why are you so cranky today?" I ask. _

_"Don't play cute with me. Can I have my snare please?" He holds out his hand impatiently. _

_"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I accidently take your bag?" I feel around my waist for the different sacks hanging off my belt. "They all the look the same you know."_

_"You're not funny," he huffs. I purse my lips together, using all the strength I have not to laugh in his face. _

_"If I give you your bag will you come with me?"_

_"I told you, I promised I'd be home early today. You're going to get me in trouble. We don't need to fish, we have plenty of game."_

_"No, we don't need to fish. But I want to!" I whine. "Come on." I grab his hand and pull him but he plants his feet and doesn't move. _

_Now I'm getting irritated. Like he'd really get in trouble with Hazelle. "Fine. Go back," I tell him, handing his bag over. I turn around and stomp through the brush toward the stream. _

_It takes a while but eventually I hear his footsteps. He's too quiet naturally to be that loud. He wants me to know he's behind me. _

_His breath tickles my neck and I squirm away from him. "Back off," I yell, laughing. _

_"This is the only way," he presses. My back is pushed up against his chest while my arms reach around the tree trunk. I couldn't swat him away even if I wanted to. _

_"There are other branches, Gale," I tell him._

_"We have to keep warm," he says. He learns further into my back._

_"Knock it off!" I yell._

_"You're going to scare all of the animals away," he says. I can tell he's trying not to laugh. I'm trapped between his body and the branch I clutch to. It is cold though so I guess I can't really complain. _

_"Look," he whispers after several minutes of silence. "A rabbit." _

_He tries to get his bow from his back but the case falls. It hits a branch on the way down and scares the rabbit away. He groans in failure. _

_"You've got to be kidding me. I'm really glad we spent the afternoon in this tree just so you could fail," I tease him. _

_"Shut up, Catnip," he says. I can feel his lips in my hair. I jerk my head back and reverse head butt him. "Ow!" he yells. _

_"Shhh! You're going to scare the animals away," I repeat his words, not even trying to contain my laugh. _

_"What would you do?" I ask him. We are nuzzled deep in the woods far from prying ears. _

_"Lots of stuff," Gale says. He sits across from me. He doesn't have to; there are plenty of other places to sit but this has become a favorite position of ours. Our faces less than a foot from each other, we watch each other's backs. Even if we are far from anyone in 12 we keep our voices to a whisper. "What would you do?"_

_"I'd make a feast for Prim and my mom every night," I say. If our lives were different, if we weren't stuck in this district, left to starve that's what I'd do. Eat. _

_Gale laughs. "Don't forget me," he says._

_I roll my eyes. "Well, obviously. You're turn," I tell him._

_His eyes focus on a clump of dirt beside him. His features strain with whatever he's thinking. "I'd do this," he finally says._

_"What?" I ask._

_"This," he motions to our surroundings before placing his hands on either side of my face. "What we're doing right now." _

_I smile. "Me too." _

_Lunchtime at school is a tedious task. There's too much time allotted for the meager amount of food I have to eat so I eat slowly. And alone. I don't notice the other kids talking with each other, laughing, eating. I think about what I will do when I get home. Wonder what kind of mood my mom will be in. When I take the last bite of my stale piece of bread I dread having to swallow it. I'm still hungry. Just as I'm getting ready to stand up someone bumps into me from behind. I turn to yell at whoever it is but am met with empty air. His hand slams down on my tray and I jump with the sound. When I turn back toward it I only catch the backside of Gale's moving body. I'm met with a ripe red apple. He turns just in time to see my smile _

_Our bodies twist to connect further, deeper. His hands reveal scars from our former lives. They are as strong as ever and a thousand memories of the way he used them to feed me flash through my mind. His lips feel right on mine. They are warm, fiery with the passion that he has held for me for so long. I find my fingers in his dark hair while his grey eyes, so much like mine, solidify the moment. It's overwhelming how right he feels. Finally connected as one – not just in mind but in body too._

_"Gale…" I whisper his name. "Don't leave me again," I beg before my body tremors with the pleasures he is creating._

"Katniss," I hear Peeta's voice but I want nothing to do with it. "Katniss," he says again louder this time.

My eyes snap open and I see him over me. My breathing is sparse, my heart pounding in my chest.

A dream. Just a dream.

"Are you okay?" he asks me. He's holding my wrists down. I must have been thrashing in my sleep.

"I'm fine," I tell him with a shaky voice. "Go back to sleep." He lips brush against my forehead and it feels like razors scraping across my skin.

Wrong lips, I think blearily as I close my eyes and try to fall back into my dream.

I'm sixteen years old again in a cave and the world is watching. Expecting. Expecting me to be in love with Peeta. While all I think about is Gale.


	11. Absolving

_Wow! I'm amazed at how strongly everyone is reacting to these last few chapters. Hope this makes you all feel better. :)_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Hunger Games or any characters. These belong to Suzanne Collins._

* * *

I avoid eye contact with everyone at breakfast. No one presses me to join the conversation so it's easy to be ignored. Our two day stay with my mom is almost over. The tension has faded between her and me. She seems more relaxed now than she did yesterday. But the tension isn't gone. It's only been displaced. Now it's Peeta and I who are on the outs. Not directly. But indirectly, it's loud and clear.

"Is there anything special you want to do today?" my mom asks us. Haymitch and I keep our heads down, ignoring the conversation. Peeta is a cordial as always.

"Not at all. Staying in and relaxing with you is special enough," Peeta says to her with a genuine smile. His words melt my heart. He's unbelievably sweet. I reach under the table to find his hand but then stop myself. I'm not sure if I deserve that yet. Because of the dream. I've never thought about Gale that way before. Maybe now that I have some experience it's easier for my mind to imagine these things.

Peeta and my mom clear the table leaving Haymitch and I to our silence. He takes out his flask and takes a drink before wordlessly passing it to me. My mind says no but my instincts say yes, I take it and take a long swig.

"You're a bad influence," I tell him.

"Thought that was what I was here for," he says. He clears his throat. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

Do I want to talk about it? Do I even want to think about it? "I'm not sure yet," I answer.

"It's not just going to go away," he threatens me.

"Maybe it will. Maybe he won't come back."

Haymitch laughs. "Oh, he's coming back. Maybe not today but he will. Until you make it absolutely clear to him."

"Can't I just have him as a friend? Can't we go back to the way it was before?"

"Don't be an idiot," he says. "Nothing ever goes back to the way it was before." I move over so I'm sitting right next to him. His words are a warning but they make me feel better.

"I'm glad you're here," I say honestly. I try to hold back my immense gratitude because I know he'll make fun of me. Or say something mean. I don't think I could take it right now. But I am. I am glad he's here. He's my rock. He scoots his chair out and rises. He walks a few steps away from the table but then returns. He musses the hair on top of my head before going back upstairs. The gesture brings tears to my eyes.

Okay, yes, I do love Gale. A little bit. Not like I love Peeta. Peeta is in a class all his own. I know I will never really deserve him because he is too good for me. It's not like Gale and I. We are not good people. And for that we do deserve each other. He'd never leave me though. Even if he thought I wanted to be with Gale, Peeta would never leave. He'd stay just to be my friend if it meant he could still see me. But this doesn't matter because I'll never leave Peeta. He is my husband. I pledged my life to him. And who is Gale? An old friend, that's all. A ghost of my past.

Peeta comes back to the table. I try to stop crying but it's futile. The tears won't stop. I don't even know what I'm crying for. I feel grateful for Haymitch, sad for Peeta, guilty about Gale. I haven't even assigned a feeling to my mom yet.

"You should go find him," Peeta says, sitting next to me. I shake my head no. "Yes, Katniss. Go find him. You always do better when you sit and talk it out." He's right. Of course he is, he's my husband and he knows how I work. Moments pass as I think about this.

"Katniss," he asks. I meet his eyes for the first time today. "Do I…" he pauses, finding his composure. "Do I have anything to worry about?"

His words cut me deep. He thinks I'm going to leave him? Isn't this supposed to be the other way around? I was the one worrying about him leaving me. He's the one who could do better. Not me.

"Of course not, Peeta," I tell him. And I mean it. I move over and sit on his lap because it feels like the right thing to do. "I missed him. He was my best friend and the only one I trusted for a long time so it's hard to see him and not feel all of that. But it's not like you and me, Peeta. It doesn't even compare." I tell him. Maybe I do miss being self sufficient but there's only reason I get out of bed in the morning. And that reason is Peeta. "You're the only thing that matters in this world to me."

He breathes relief and a smile dances on his lips. I know he believes me but there still's something about the way he's looking at me that tells me he's being cautious. He is right about one thing. I have to find Gale. I need to talk to him one more time. Luckily, he does the work for me because no sooner do I think it does someone knock at the door. We both know who it is.

"Are you ready for this?" Peeta asks.

"No," I tell him truthfully. He smiles at me, placing his lips on mine. I try make the kiss last longer, lingering my tongue along his but he stops me. When he lets Gale in they exchange a few words I can't hear before Gale comes to find me.

Seeing him again, in the flesh, is a shock to my system all over again. I don't know where Peeta disappears to but I don't see him again.

"Hey, Catnip," Gale says with a smile. It's amazing how much like a man he looks. He always looked older than the other kids our age but it's even more pronounced now. Maybe it's the stubble on his jaw line from not shaving. Or perhaps the way his dark hair is cropped short, making his grey eyes look almost translucent. How many times have I gotten lost in those eyes? Or the age in the smirk he is giving me now.

My dream pops back into my mind. Why would I think of Gale in that way? What does it say about my feelings for him? Or does it even matter? Because the nightmares don't matter. They are just flashbacks amplified by fear and sadness. So what is this dream then? A fantasy… amplified by what?

I take Peeta's advice and decide to stop thinking and just talk. My words will work themselves out. "Do you want to go for a walk?" I ask.

"Sure," he says, pulling my chair out for me.

We walk along the streets of district 4. The medical factory is the largest building and everything else seems to point to it. The street my mom lives on is lively. There are families everywhere. The lawns are filled with children's laughter and play. It's peaceful. I could see Peeta and I on a street like this, being a part of a community. Though, Haymitch would take some convincing.

We lay in the grass. It's a beautiful day; the sky is bright blue, no clouds. The wind is just barely blowing the leaves back and forth creating a sound so soothing it can only be found in nature. We are so far off the path of the park we found that it feels like we are alone in the woods again. Just Gale and I. In our own world. I smile at the familiarity.

"That's something I've missed," Gale says. I hadn't noticed he was watching me. His thumb reaches over and strokes my bottom lip. His fingertips are much softer than I remember them being. He must not have to hunt for his food anymore. I imagine him in his fancy suits with his fancy job in a new fancy house. A world away from the simple life that Peeta and I have built.

I close my eyes and take his hand from my face. Interlocking my fingers with his I don't think. I just try to feel. At first it's slightly uncomfortable because his hands are not Peeta's. But then it becomes more recognizable. It's subtle at first. His knuckles, the lines of his palm, the scars. Then the warmth. The unbelievable warmth. His hand holds mine securely and confidently and I imagine what it would be like if I never had to let go. What would it be like if we could be best friends again?

It occurs to me that I don't even know why Gale showed up on my mom's doorstep today. I look over to his body lying next to mine. He's still watching me with peaceful content.

"You go first," I order him. He laughs. It makes me smile.

"I don't know how," he says.

"Me either," I reply. He hesitates as if trying to settle something in his mind before moving on. I don't mind the pause; it gives me a chance to try to turn my brain off.

"Do you love me?" he boldly asks. I wasn't expecting this to go that quickly. The surprise staggers my thoughts. And then I remember, no thinking. Just talking.

"Yes," I declare. His grey eyes flood with hope. It breaks my heart. For a million reasons. "But –," I start, but he cuts me off.

"Then leave him," he tells me. "Come back with me to 2, Katniss. Or I'll go with you to 12. Or wherever you want. I'll go anywhere as long as I'm with you. I know I can make you happy." His eyes are moving from mine to my lips and I know what he's thinking. He waits anxiously for my response, making it nearly impossible to say what has to be said.

"No," I tell him firmly. "I'll never leave him." His face crumples almost as immediately as it dared to hope. "Because I love him, Gale. He is my husband," I tell him as I raise my left hand to exaggerate the ring on my finger. He looks away from it, his eyes falling and a crease forming at his brow. I can see his teeth gritting in frustration as he tries to hold his tongue.

"If I had gone back –"

"You didn't," I interject.

"But if I had –"

"You can't do that!" I interrupt him again. "You don't get to do this! He came back for me. You didn't!"

"I wanted to," he says. I expect him to be upset but instead he appears angry. Is he mad at me? Or Peeta? Or maybe himself? Either way, he doesn't deserve angry. I'm the one who deserves to be angry.

"Then why didn't you!" I sit up and face him, my hands shoving him in rage. "You abandoned me!" I scream so loud that I'm sure passerby's can hear us but I don't care. I've held it in far too long to be quiet now. "You just left me. Alone. To rot in 12 by myself. How could you do that? You were my best friend! I didn't have anyone else, Gale."

"I know," he cries. "I know. I'm sorry, Katniss."

"Why? Why would you do that?" I ask him over and over. My chest is ripped open. A disparity so great crashes down on me that I'm crippled. I can't talk. I can't think. All I do is feel. Mixtures of emotions fight for my attention and I realize I've been holding it in this whole time, since the Capital dumped me back at home. I did feel relief when I found out he wasn't coming home but that was a band aid for a bullet wound. I let the emotions take over and abandoned wins out.

He buries his face in his hands and his chest heaves with pain, desperately trying to catch a breath. I watch his whole body give in to the unrelenting anguish. He doesn't have to tell me why this hurts him because I already know. I know he's ashamed. I know he's regretful and desperate to change it but it's too late now.

"I love you," he tries. "Please, Katniss. I love you," he begs for what he does not deserve, tears filling his eyes. He sits and pulls me to him but I push him away and scream at him then cry with him for too much to ever understand.

I end up close to him. Too close to him because his lips are suddenly on my neck. They are on my jaw. My cheeks. They inch closer to my lips. His arms are wrapped around my body and it's all consuming. There is nothing else in this world but Gale and I. Time is no longer linear. It's cyclical and we are as we would have been if there was no reaping. No games. We're two people destined to fall in love with one another. He places his hands on either side of my face and waits for a sign to stop. Or go. When I don't respond he leans into my lips.

I push him away and yell obscenities. But he is persistent and his arms are around me again. His lips are fighting to find mine. I tell him to stop and that I don't want this but these are just words. I give up trying to stop him because he is too frenzied to be reasoned with. He mistakes this for acceptance and now he's kissing me. I don't kiss him back. I don't move an inch to help his kiss but I do realize that it hurts and feels good all at once. I feel my heart speed up with pain and pleasure, intertwining into a frenzy of uncertainty. It's wrong but it was supposed to be right. It was supposed to be this way.

His lips are frantic and desperate. They devour me with a sweltering, potent passion. He wants me too much. He's trying too hard. He knows this is his only chance to convince me. We were supposed to be together but not like this. Never like this. Only then do I realize… I hate him. For thinking he can just come back and try to get me to go with him. I hate him for only wanting me after Peeta came into my life. I hate him for not coming back to 12. I hate him for his eyes that I love. I hate him for his hands that I trust. I hate him for every memory that I will never get rid of, of feeling safe with him and alive and free. I hate him for making me need him and then disappearing. I hate him for trying to make himself an option again.

He pulls his lips away from mine and I see his eyes. They are red with tears but determined as ever. I regret finding them because I know they will haunt me.

"Let me go," I whisper.

"No," he says firmly. "We belong together, Katniss."

"This is wrong," I tell him.

"You're only saying that because you think that's what you're supposed to say. Stop thinking about him," he begs me. "Think about you. What do you want?"

"I will never stop thinking about him. He came back for me. You didn't."

"Not because I didn't love you."

"Why are you doing this now?" I ask him in frustration. He's still clutching to my body but I am leaning as far away from him as I can manage.

"Because I can't live like this anymore."

His answer infuriates me. "You don't get to do this!" I try to wiggle away from him again but he just holds on tighter.

"Do you love him more than you love me?"

I hesitate because they aren't levels of more or less. There is just love. And I love them both. But there is a distinction between my feelings for them. And it's that distinction that I have to make absolutely clear.

"I don't love you like that, Gale. I love you but I'm not in love with you." I know it's the truth as soon as I say it and it brings me relief. It doesn't matter if I had an errant dream about him or if I clung to him and cried the night before. I don't want him the way I want Peeta. And maybe I have doubted it in a moment of weakness but I know it's true now more than ever. Gale's lips on mine were wrong for so many reasons. But the main reason was because his lips weren't Peeta's and for that they disgust me.

I just want my best friend back. No more, no less.

"You're lying," he says, but I know he believes me. His face is hard, trying to contain whatever emotion that is bubbling at the surface. I have to make him understand no matter how much it's going to hurt him.

"I choose Peeta, Gale. I choose him. You have to accept that. I cannot live without him. And you…," it pains me so much to say it.

But I have to because if I don't he'll never understand. He'll always think that he may have a chance and he never will. It's going to break his heart in a thousand different ways because it will place the blame on him and him alone.

"You…," I continue relentlessly, "You left me. And when you did…you proved to me that I can live without you." And just to make absolutely sure he understands, I tell him, "I will never recover if I lose Peeta. Never."

His face twists with the deep wound I have inflicted. He doesn't speak. He doesn't have to. I understand what he is feeling.

And with that understanding I absolve myself of him.

I don't know where he goes but I go straight back to my mother's house. I don't have to go far to find Peeta, he is sitting on the front porch.

I bound up the stairs, pull him to his feet and take his face into my hands the same way he always does to me. His expression is calm but I can see the worry deep in his eyes. When I don't speak he asks, "Everything okay?"

"I'm not going to lie, Peeta. I missed him. A lot more than I thought I did. I miss him being my best friend - that's it. It's good that he came though…I held that in for far too long. We both said what had to be said. Now we can move on." I tell him. "I know, from experience, that I'll get over it. Just like I did before. As long as I have you I don't need anyone else."

"What about me?" Haymitch slurs. He stumbles out of the front door and lands in the chair next to Peeta's. "You need me, too," he laughs, taking a drink out of his flask. I wonder how many consecutive hours he's been drunk.

"So you took care of the other one?" Haymitch goes on to ask. I release Peeta from my embrace and we lean against the railing, facing Haymitch.

"Yeah. I took care of it," I tell him reluctantly.

"How'd he take it?"

"Not good."

"Good," Haymitch says. "That means you did it right." I don't immediately respond. "Look at the bright side, sweetheart. One nightmare faced, only about a hundred left to go," he laughs and passes me his flask. I take a drink without hesitation.


	12. Angry

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or any characters within the series. These belong to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

"I'm starting to think that maybe you were right. Maybe we should have stayed in 12," Peeta says. He is always sure of his actions. Always makes confident and well thought out decisions so this is a surprise.

"No, Peeta," I tell him. "You were right. It's important for us to do this. If we don't how are we going to know that we are better?"

"What happened with Gale?" he asks out of nowhere.

I shrug my shoulders. "Lots of stuff, I guess."

"I want to know. Everything," he says with an edge to his voice.

I suppose I owe this to him. The short version anyway. "He wanted me to…Well I guess he just wanted _me_. But I told him I would never leave you and that I didn't love him like that. Then he left."

"And that's it?"

I prop myself on my elbow from the lying position I am so I can see his eyes. "What are you implying?" He hesitates. I know what he's implying. I shouldn't make him have to say it. "He tried to kiss me, or I guess he did kiss me, but I didn't kiss him. I pushed him away."

He sits up in a huff, turning his back to me. "He kissed you? Were you going to tell me?"

"There's nothing to tell, Peeta. I didn't kiss him back so what does it matter?"

"Why were you even that close to him, Katniss? And it does matter," he says.

Why was I that close to him? I know he wouldn't let me out of his arms but I could have tried harder. I could have been sterner with him. Instead I let it happen. I let his lips touch my neck and my face, places only Peeta deserves to feel. I let him.

"It happened so fast," I tell him in a small voice.

"Did you like it?" he asks to my surprise.

"Of course not!" I answer mechanically. "I mean…it wasn't you. It was all wrong. But I don't deny that some part of me recognized that it might have been that way if…if -"

"If you hadn't settled for me," Peeta finishes my sentence.

"No, Peeta. I didn't settle for you. You know that." I grab onto his arm but he pulls it away. I still can't see his face.

He composes himself enough to ask, "And you're sure you don't have feelings for him?"

"Peeta! Knock it off!" I yell at him. "I'm not going to sit here and let you accuse me of lying to you. And accuse me of loving someone else. Don't be ridiculous!" I get off the bed.

"Wait," he says. "Don't go. I'm sorry." I know he is but it still makes me angry. He lowers his eyes. It's clear he feels bad for doubting me. I was angry with Gale because he deserved it. Peeta doesn't deserve to be treated this way. I put my hands on his shoulders.

"No, I'm sorry, Peeta. The situation with Gale, what happened, was…bizarre. I wasn't expecting any of that. If I had been expecting him I might have reacted… better." I think of the way Peeta found us clinging to each other. It's no wonder he was worried. "I didn't react that way to him because I'm in love with him. I just…," I try to remember why I acted that way. "It made me sad."

Peeta looks at me now giving me his full attention.

I continue, "When you spend that much time with someone and you depend on them day in and day out…it's hard to accept that it will never be like that again."

"I don't know if I'll ever understand," he mumbles.

"How can I make it better?" I ask.

His eyes find mine and they are suddenly hard. I recoil at the harshness but refuse to let him go. When he finally speaks he doesn't hold back. "Maybe don't let me find you holding onto another man like that. Ever again," he says. His curtness surprises me. I know I deserve it, but it still surprises me. I don't have a response so instead I just hold onto him tighter. He continues, "Like you're heart is going to stop if you let go. Like you need him more than anything else in the world. Like you need him more than you need _me_."

"I'm sorry," I say because I don't know what else to do. I realize it's the first time I've said it. He removes my hands from shoulders and gets up, grabs a pillow and moves to our suites sofa. "What are you doing?" I ask, though I already understand.

"I'm sleeping over here," he says, still visibly angry.

I should just leave him alone. I should let him cool off. I owe him that. But I am selfish when it comes to Peeta and I always will be. I only give him a few minutes before I go to him. I don't know what to say and I'm sure there are no words to make him feel better so instead I throw myself at him. I stand before him and slowly take my clothes off. His eyebrows pull together in confused annoyance and he says nothing. I watch his eyes move over my naked body and notice his breathing getting slightly more erratic. I climb on top of him and see his hands ball into fists at my contact. He's angry. This could be the angriest I've ever seen him.

I kiss his forehead and cheeks, move down to his neck while sliding my hands up his shirt. I can see the tendons in his neck flex as he tries not to give in. For some reason it makes me want him more. I tug at the strings of his pajama bottoms. When he makes no effort to help me I plunge my hand down his pants. He sucks in a scattered breath still fighting to keep his anger in control. I move my hand and body over his confident that I will be the victor in this game of seduction. As I make my way back to his lips I find his eyes and they are furious. I whisper into his ear, "I love you. Only you."

And then he caves.

His hands grasp around my waist and he's up, moving us to the bed. His movements are agitated but specific. He roughly grasps at my breasts, taking each of them into his mouth before sliding his hands down my body and in between my legs. He's still visibly pissed off but now he wants me. This is good I decide. What did that science book say about sex? Endorphins are released during sexual activity giving the participant the feeling of being happy. Maybe this will help him feel better.

He stands at the edge of the bed feeling my body and I can tell struggling to decide if this is really what he wants to do. I pull at his pants again and this time he does help me. He pulls them off and pulls me by my thighs toward him. He doesn't reach down and kiss me. He doesn't form his body over mine so I can feel his skin and muscles, so I can relish in the feeling of his body rising and falling gasping for breath. He stays standing when he slips inside of me. He doesn't go slowly. He moves quickly and with purpose. This isn't about making love to me. He can hardly stand me right now. This is about blowing off steam. But what did I expect really? It's an odd feeling. He always feels amazing inside of me but not like this. I want to hold him. I want to kiss his lips and find his eyes. He's looking at my body but he's not looking at me.

And then it's over. When he finally looks into my eyes I can that he is disgusted. But with me or him? I can't tell. He grabs his clothes from the floor and goes into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Okay. So maybe that was a bad idea. He seems angrier than he was before. I find my clothes and quickly get dressed. I climb under the covers and wait for him to come out but as the minutes pass I realize he's avoiding me. Okay. So maybe that was a really bad idea. He probably hates himself for caving and making love to me that way. Or having sex I should say. I don't think I can take lying here knowing he's holed himself in the bathroom just to avoid being in the same room with me. I knock on the bathroom door.

"Peeta?" I ask. "Are you okay?"

It's silent for what feels like a forever. "Just leave me alone, Katniss," he says. His voice is strained.

I want to knock the door down and tell him I'm sorry – again. I want to take him in my arms and beg him to kiss me and to give me the affection he stole from me just now. I don't deserve it though. I turned one bad situation into another. I hope it's me he's disgusted with and not himself. He did nothing wrong. It's me. Always me.

"I'm going to see Haymitch," I tell him, hoping he'll come out and get some rest.

I knock on Haymitchs door and wait for him to invite me in this time.

"Very good, sweetheart," he says. "There's hope for you yet. Want a drink?"

"No. Stop offering me liquor," I tell him. If I turn to the bottle every time I get upset I'm going to end up exactly like the old man.

"Whatever," he says. "So what's new? Shouldn't you two be staring into each other's eyes right about now? Declaring your love for one another?" he laughs.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, confused.

"After you two have sex. Isn't that what you kids do with all that lovey dovey crap?"

Comprehension flashes before me. He heard us. Who else heard us? I feel my cheeks blaze with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"Oh, you didn't know?" he laughs. "These trains are not very private."

I sigh. Nothing I can do about it now. "No, no lovey dovey stuff for us today."

"Uh oh. Trouble in paradise?" he asks. "You pissed him off that quickly afterwards? I just heard you a few minutes ago. Which, by the way, is pretty unpleasant for me. I'd venture to say unbearable. Try to keep it down, will you?" He takes a drink from his flask.

"I think we just had our first angry experience," I admit.

"Oh jeez, I don't really want to know! Don't talk to me about your sex life, for God's sake!" He takes another drink.

"Fine," I say because I don't really want to talk to him about it either. "Can I sleep on your couch?" I ask.

"Fine with me," he says. He throws me a pillow and I curl up with a blanket. I turn my back toward Haymitch and try to sleep. It's useless. All I can think of is Peeta. I hope he'll come find me but he doesn't. When the train pulls into the Capital my stomach is in knots knowing I may not have Peeta by my side today. I don't think I can face it alone. Then I remember, that is precisely the reason I brought my mentor with me.


	13. Decisions

_I know this chapter took forever to post. I'm trying to finish editing the novel that I wrote so I can get it bound for myself by Christmas so I had to back off of this story for a while. I continue to appreciate all of the wonderful reviews and everyone who has added me to their favorite author/story/alert lists. _

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Hunger Games or any characters within the book series. These belong to Suzanne Collins._

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They say misery loves company. I guess that's why Haymitch and I are getting along so tremendously. It's really unfortunate that Peeta and I aren't giving Plutarch the kind of sound bites he thought we would. He's still hardly speaking to me. But he knows that us, the couple, is of absolute importance when it comes to the rebuilding of Panem so he is still cordial when the cameras and reporters are around. I'm not as good at putting up a front as he is. It's our last full day in the Capital and the taping of my interview regarding the new school in District 12 is scheduled for after dinner. The news crew is coming to our hotel to film which is nice since I'm trying to stay as close to Peeta as possible. Even if I can tell I'm not wanted. It's hard for me to accept that his horrible attitude is solely because of me. So before we go down for dinner I corner him and resolve myself to force him to talk to me.

"This is getting ridiculous," I tell him, not bothering to hold back my annoyance. "Why don't you just tell me what the problem is so we can move on," I suggest. My brash attitude has taken him off guard. That unattractive scowl he's been wearing around me fades and a definitive look of anger replaces it.

"The world doesn't revolve around you, Katniss. Not every mood I feel is because of you," he says.

"Oh, I see. So you're not mad at me?" I retort.

"No, I'm still plenty mad at you," he admits. His voice is getting louder. I wonder how long it will be before he is fully screaming at me.

"Well then let's talk about it," I say crossing my arms to my chest at an attempt to show some control over the situation.

He shakes his head like he can't believe I have the nerve to even talk to him. This is not my Peeta. This is an angry, insensitive and highly unappealing version of my husband that I am beyond sick of it.

"Fine. Let's talk about it," he finally says. "The thought of you letting Gale put his lips on you disgusts me."

Gale. Again! How many times is he going to bring this up? "Peeta," I say as calmly as I can. "I didn't know he was going to -," I stop myself because he doesn't care whether or not I knew what was going to happen. All he cares about is the fact that it did happen. "I'm sorry that I put myself in that situation." I refuse to apologize for feeling the way I feel…felt about Gale. That is mine. Just because I am his wife doesn't mean he can tell me how to feel.

"I'm not sure you are sorry," he spits at me. It takes every ounce of strength I have to try not to scream at him for being stubborn and unreasonable. But I am not that strong.

"You know what, Peeta? You are really starting to piss me off!" I yell at him.

"I'm pissing _you_ off?" he says with incredulity. He rises to his feet and I gather that he's finally found the fight he's been looking for.

"Yes! You are pissing _me_ off. And I know what you are doing."

There is no way that Peeta would disregard my apology when he knows I am sincere. He would rather be mad at me then have to deal with the other feelings he's experiencing being in the Capital.

"You think you know everything," he says.

"I do!" I yell. "I know that this isn't about me. It's about you and how you can't stand being here. Just admit it, Peeta. You are not strong enough for this," I spread my arms out to emphasize our foreign surroundings. I know it's a low blow but I have to be honest if I'm going to get an honest reaction out of him.

He becomes instantly furious. "Why do you always do that?" he yells.

"What?" I say taking a step back from him. I have to remember that Peeta is not always in control of himself.

"You try to emasculate me," he clarifies moving a step closer.

"That's not what I'm doing. If you could stop being so defensive then you could see how ridiculous you are being."

"That's what I'm talking about!" he yells. "You blame everyone for everything, Katniss. It's my fault I'm not handling what happened with Gale well. I'll bet it's my fault that we had sex when you knew I was mad at you. You knew exactly what you were doing and now I have one more thing to feel bad about. Thank you, Katniss, for making this trip all about you just like everything else in our lives!"

I want to yell back at him but I don't because I know he is right. I do always make everything about myself. He's usually up for going along with it but not in this environment. Not when he's so vulnerable. It's clear that he needs time and space to calm down but I don't want to leave him now. Not when I finally having him talking to me. I slowly move across the room to where he is standing. He's staring out the window looking into the darkness of the streets. His hands are balled into fists and are visibly trembling with rage.

When I am directly behind him I call out his name in warning. His head moves a fraction of an inch in my direction before I place my hand on his shoulder. He lets me.

"You're right," I say softly. "I have made this trip all about me. I'm sorry I did that."

"Don't patronize me," he says jerking his body away from my hand.

"I'm not," I say. "I really am sorry." I put both of my hands on his shoulders now and rest my head between his shoulder blades. "I've known that you are having a hard time here and I haven't even tried to be here for you." I wait for him to respond and when he doesn't I add, "I know this is a lot harder for you than it is for me. With what they did to you here."

He lets out a deep sign and only then do I notice he's been holding his breath.

"I am still pissed at you about Gale," he says, his voice a little lighter.

"I know," I say.

"And I'm pissed at you for seducing me," he adds but it's not harsh. It's almost like he's making a dig at himself for giving in. I smile.

"I know," I say again. "I shouldn't have done that." I wrap my arms around his waist.

He turns around and his eyes belong to my Peeta. Even though they are intense they are soft and understanding. He leans down to hug me, pulling me toward his chest and burying his face in my hair. "I don't like being here," he whispers. "I want to go home."

"We can go right now if you want. Who cares about one more interview?" I ask.

"That one interview is the main reason they brought us out here, Katniss," he answers. He's always so reasonable.

"I just want to do what's best for you. I don't care if Plutarch is disappointed."

"We're not leaving early because of me," he says. "I don't want to be here but I'm not skipping out on our responsibilities."

We move from the window over to the bed. There's no hint of any sexual foreshadowing when we lie in bed together. I'm just happy to be holding him again after so many nights of sleeping on Haymitchs' sofa.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask after a long period of silent cuddling.

"No," he says. "I don't think it's something that I have to talk about. I just have to survive it, if that makes sense."

It does make sense. Perfect sense, in fact. Gale is something that I don't want to talk about or even know how to. He's something that happened that I survived. That's all the understanding I need. Same thing goes for my mom.

"I understand," I tell him. But there was a bigger purpose for coming here - one that has nothing to do with interviews. We're supposed to be testing ourselves to see if we are well enough to have a baby without relapsing. I've been so focused on him that I haven't let anything get to me. I take this as meaning I am ready. I am over the horrors the Capital inflected on us. There is too bright a future ahead of me to focus so obsessively on the past.

There's a knock on the door when Haymitch comes to get us for dinner. "Does this mean I'm losing my roommate?" Haymitch asks me with anticipation when Peeta and I leave the room hand in hand.

"Don't sound so excited," I tell him. "You're going to miss me," I tease.

"Right!" he huffs. "I'm going to miss you like I miss a hangover when my liquor runs out." He seems more content in the Capital than he has been on the journey to get here. It occurs to me he is probably facing his own demons on this trip. Maybe that's why he didn't put up too much of a fight on coming with us.

The three of us descend into the formal farewell dinner that consists of the company of President Paylor, Plutarch, and the Directors of the Department of Education, Defense, Corrections and Human Services plus many other guests I don't recognize. It's lavish considering there's an interview to follow. I try not to gorge myself on the food because I do have to be on camera soon but it's an ill attempt. We don't eat like this in District 12. The food isn't as lavish as it was under Coin but it's still delicious. I am especially fond of the lamb meat that we don't have in 12.

After dinner the television crew sets up the stage for the interview in the lobby of the hotel. Our presence in the area has packed the city with tourists and spectators. The open area of the lobby allows for many viewers to gather around. Plutarch is giving the interview himself. He thought it'd show the audience that there are no hard feelings between Peeta and I and the former Head Gamemaker. The interview flows sinuously as we go through the questions and answers that we had agreed to discuss. I give an overview of the direction the curriculum will take in our district and he commends my efforts.

"I must say it's quite ambitious of you to tackle a task of such monumental importance," Plutarch says. "What could possibly be next for you, Katniss Everdeen, our Mockingjay?"

"It's Mellark," I correct. "Katniss Mellark."

"I'm sorry, of course. Mrs. Mellark, what's next for you?"

I look over at Peeta who is standing next to President Paylor watching the interview from behind the camera. I think of all the confessions he gave while on live television during the games. I decide it's my turn to one up him.

"A family," I say. "When we get back to District 12 Peeta and I are going to start trying for our first child."

The informal audience around us goes wild with cheers and applause. I see Peeta's mouth drop open from where he is standing and I laugh at his shocked expression. He recovers with an ecstatic smile before he starts cheering and applauding with the audience. Plutarch tries to gain back control but it's useless. What greater showing of hope can we give the country of Panem then the promise to give life?


	14. Conception

_Hi Everyone! I first wanted to thank everyone for your ongoing support and attention these past few months. As some of you may have guessed I have had major writer's block. I still do. Which is why I've decided to publish this half written chapter as what may be my last one. I don't know if this story is going to come back to me so I can finish it. I'm sorry to leave you with something incomplete but I do promise that the very next time I'm inspired to work on it I will publish right away. Again, thank you all for your ongoing support._

**_Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or it's characters. These belong to Suzanne Collins._**

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"When I have an orgasm," I say to Peeta. He rolls his eyes instantly and starts moving away from my nearly naked body, "my uterus will dip into my vaginal cavity looking for semen to pick up to fertilize one of my eggs."

If we're going to do this we're going to do it the right way. Peeta complains that I am taking all of the fun out of it but I don't care. In fact, I beginning to think I'm a natural at this whole teaching thing.

"You sure now how to ruin the mood," Peeta says under his breath. I ignore him.

"That's why it's so important for us to time our orgasms. Where are you going?" I ask as he rolls over onto his side of the bed.

"Why do we have to time anything? Do you think _our_ parents conferred with a molecular biology book before having sex," he asks.

"I prefer not to think of _our_ parents having sex." The memory of them dating before my mother met my father peeks its head but I quickly dismiss it.

"That's not the point, Katniss. We don't have to time anything. It'll happen if it's supposed to happen," he says. He pulls my body towards his, trying to coax me to get on top of him. "Stop trying to control everything."

"I'm not trying to control _everything_," I argue. I give in and position my body over his. "Just this," I say moving my hands over him. His eyes close and his head leans back further into the pillows. "I can stop though…if you want" I say abruptly, taking my hand away.

"No, no, don't stop!" he pleads. I smile mischievously at him.

"Don't stop what?" I ask. "This…or this?"

"Both," he says barely audible. "Don't stop both."

Our return from the Capital a few months ago flowed sinuously into our new routine in the district. The school and bakery have completed construction so Peeta and I are both on working schedules. Teaching isn't as bad as I thought it would be. After our telecast in the Capital more people came forward to help out working in the school. Instead of having to know a little bit of everything we now have separate specialists that teach in different blocks of time. There's an English teacher, math, science, history and physical education teachers. Even after months of preparing and learning all of the other subjects I decided to tackle the PE classes. After all, there's no one better equipped to teach archery in this district than I am. And finally, the last addition to our teaching faculty is, to my surprise, Peeta. He asked if he could teach a few art classes. These classes have become his own form of art therapy so we don't waste our precious time painting in the evenings or having the vent talks anymore. Instead we focus on more important tasks. Like trying to make a baby.


	15. Mutiny

_Hello all my fanfic friends! I have missed you all so much! I am very happy to report that yesterday as I was lounging around my house I got this aching feeling to take out my laptop and revisit my THG stories and then all of a sudden the words just started pouring out of me. _

_**Disclaimer: I do no own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. These belong to Suzanne Collins.**_

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The sun is so warm on my face it's hard to believe it's well into September. I sit in the grass in back of our house and watch Peeta and Haymitch fumble with the instructions to our new swing set. I told Peeta not to bother. Alexander is content just following around his daddy all day. He doesn't need swings and slides to keep him entertained. Just give the kid a rolling pin and a mound of dough and he's set. It's hard to believe that Alexander was born almost three years ago already. We had tried to get pregnant for about a year before it finally happened. I was so frustrated that I wanted to give up all together. But I didn't. I went on for Peeta. Because even though I finally did come to want a child my whole future wasn't planned around it like I later found out Peeta's was. He didn't tell me how he'd already had a name picked out. I never knew that he had planned which room would be the baby's. And I certainly didn't know that Haymitch was on his side.

When I found out I was pregnant I told Haymitch that he wasn't allowed near me or the baby until he gave up the booze. He hated me for it, said he was angry because I was trying to tell him what to do. I knew better than that. I knew he was really angry because he wanted this child just as much as Peeta did. Maybe more. It was exactly six weeks before I gave birth to Alexander when he finally quit. Of course I didn't know this. I figured he had just crawled into his house to sulk when I didn't see him stumbling around. But in actuality he had called up the Capital and gotten into one of their rehabs which eased him out of the terrible withdrawal symptoms painlessly. He still has nightmares though. They aren't the Capital nightmares that Peeta and I struggled with so long. They're the withdrawal nightmares that come with quitting substance abuse. At least that's what the doctors and the morphling addicts he had met told him.

"Katniss!" Peeta calls out to me. I look up from the mound of mud Alexander and I have created to see my frustrated husband waving me over.

I sigh. "Daddy needs me," I tell Alexander. "Be right back."

"Because he doesn't know how to do it?" he asks with concern.

"How'd you get so smart?" I ask with him a smile, patting his head before I get up. It doesn't take long before I hear the squish of his diaper as he quietly follows behind me.

The bright green slide is partially propped up against the poorly constructed wooden beams meant to anchor it. The chains for the two swings are jumbled together though miraculously both are actually hanging in their right spots. The ladder that allows you to climb the structure is being slowly taken apart by Haymitch because clearly it has been built inverted and, therefore, has become a virtual death trap for my child.

Peeta puts his arm around my waist and draws me as close to him as he can before Alexander squirms between us demanding to be included. "You've got to get him off my hands for a while," he whispers in my ear. "I would have been done hours ago if he would just stop helping me." His eyes plead with me and I can't help laughing. I knew this was going to happen.

"Let's get the kid on it," I tell him.

"Good idea," he agrees. He lifts Alexander into his arms and my heart still skips a beat when I see the way they look at each other. Alex has Peeta's bright blue eyes and even though he has my dark hair he still has beautiful soft curls just like his daddy. "Alexander," he says quietly, do you want to take Papa for a walk?"

"He's ruining everything isn't he?" Alexander asks loudly in broken baby English.

"I can hear you!" Haymitch yells out. Alexander's eyes get big and he tries to hold in the giggles that are threatening to escape. Peeta mouths for him to hold it in but it's no use. He starts laughing uncontrollably. "Fine!" Haymitch says in frustration, throwing his tools on the ground.

Peeta lets Alexander down and he walks over to the unstable slide. "You're doing it wrong, Papa," he says.

"Oh, what do you know?" Haymitch asks him. "Let's get out of here." Alexander grabs his hand and they start walking toward town together.

"See you for dinner!" I yell out to them but they are already in their own little world.

I turn back to Peeta. "Do you want some help?" I ask, rubbing my fingers across his lower back.

"That's all right," he says. "This'll go quick now."

"You know…we have an empty house," I indicate, pressing my lips to his. I hear the tool in his hand drop into the grass before his arms are around me. He needs no convincing.

He sets me down on our bed. "I'm all sweaty," he warns.

"Even better," I say, my hands sliding down the front of his bare chest. His lips hungrily find my skin as we take advantage of this short time we have without Alexander banging on our door asking if he can play too. The tendons in his muscle flex as he holds his body above mine, his strength makes me want him even more. He pulls my shirt over my head and kisses my chest while my fingers tangle into his hair. His pants are just barely hitting the ground when we hear Haymitch screaming in a panic.

"You two better get down here!" he yells from the living room.

We stop. Our eyes connect. Our minds both automatically go to Alexander. He gets off of me and grabs his pants before running full speed down stairs.

"Alex!" he yells.

"He's fine," Haymitch says. "You have to see this." Pulling my shirt over my head I come down just in time to see Gale's face on the TV screen.

"…this is no time to panic," he continues. "Our government is much stronger than it was before. We will not let these few radical revolutionaries thwart the progress we, as a nation, have made." A news anchor begins talking over the broadcast and cuts to a shot of one of the largest new districts in the country. Mesotex is a district south of the nation and after it was created they discovered a huge amount of natural gas resources. We had heard the democratically elected governor wasn't as forthcoming as the Capital wanted him to be about these resources but this was not public information. Peeta and I weren't apart of the government but we were still given classified updates as part of our contract consultant positions that Plutarch had set up for us to guarantee we'd get briefed every month.

The TV camera cuts to a fire in the center of one of largest towns in Mesotex. There is a crowd of people with signs, chanting and throwing debris into the fire. Then I see him. Antoine Bartlett, the governor of Mesotex himself, is at the center of the crowd with a bullhorn leading the mob. A TV journalist catches up to him and shoves a microphone into his face.

"What is all this about?" she asks, yelling over the chanting crowd.

"The Capital is trying to control us. We all know how that ended up last time. Mesotex wants sovereignty. The natural resources here could be making the citizens of this district rich but instead we have to hand over all of these resources and income gained from these resources to the Capital. Not anymore!" he yells. The crowd cheers along with him.

Mesotex has a monopoly on the oil supply for the nation and the Capital has been trying to gain control over the natural resources since the district discovered it. The fuel that they produce is used in every single district to power the hovercrafts and trains; it's used to make steel, glass, paper, clothing, bricks. It's used to generate electricity and make paint, plastic, film. We use it to run the dishwasher, water heater, stoves and every other household appliance. Peeta and I look at each other. We both know what this means.

District 12 is the only other district in the entire nation that could compete with Mesotex. The reason? Coal. We are the nations coal producers and even though we don't produce nearly as much as Mesotex we can survive without them if need be. By "we" I mean our district. Our district only. We can't support the entire nation on what we mine here. Not since the population boom after the revolution. Even if we could, the pollution from mining that much coal would kill us all way before we'd feel the inconvenience of losing our gas power. That's where Mesotex has everyone beat. Their natural resources produce little pollution which means a safer nation. We can all survive on coal but will we be able to survive the sulfar dioxide it produces which comes in the form of acid rain and damages our forests, lakes and buildings? Can we survive the mercury it releases which can kill off an entire lake of fish with just a single teaspoon?

"District 12!" Governor Bartlett yells into the camera. "They will come for you next. Either join us now…or lose the choice all together," he says menacingly. I know he is speaking to me. The phone rings and we all stand frozen in the moment.

"Phone!" Alex finally yells impatiently. I cross the room to answer it while Peeta finally pulls on his pants.

"Katniss?" Plutarch calls out on the other line. "Have you seen it?"

"We're watching it right now."

"You have to get over here," he says.

"Absolutely not," I tell him sternly. "We are not getting involved."

"You don't have a choice!" he yells at me, frustrated. "They're already on their way. What you are watching is from hours ago. They could be there any minute. We are sending a hovercraft to come and get you."

"We aren't leaving!" I yell. "You have a military now. Call in the Army. That's what they are for."

The line is silent. The first thing the Capital did when it rebuilt itself was establish a military to prevent any more revolutions like ours. General Atkins is the leader of the established Army and single handedly helped with the new zoning of the districts and established military bases in every district meant to protect the citizens from issues just like this.

"Katniss, we can't," he finally says. "General Atkins is in Mesotex…they're working together."

His words hit me like a sledgehammer. The man in charge of each and every army outfit in the nation is co-conspiring to start a revolution? Not only does he have access to census reports and zoning parameters but he is also in control of every weapon issued in the entire nation.

"Katniss," Peeta says next to me. "What is it?"

I regain my composure and tell Plutarch, "We'll be ready." I hang up the phone and Haymitch and Peeta stare at me, waiting.

"We're leaving," I tell them.

"Why? What's going on?" Peeta asks.

Haymitch already has Alexander in his arms. "Let's go find that teddy of yours," he says, taking him upstairs.

"Katniss," Peeta says again, panic breaking through is voice, "What's wrong?"

A war is brewing and it is coming to us. What better leverage do the revolutionists need than to have the Mockingjay held hostage? I have not been in the mentality of having to protect myself or my family in years. I have had the false sense of safety ever since Peeta and I were married. We were never safe.

"Katniss!" Peeta yells my name. He stands in front of me demanding an answer.

I finally meet his eyes, panicked but still unaffected by the reality of what is to come. I want to protect him from this. I want to protect all of us from this but I can't. Not by myself anyway. So I give it to him straight.

My voice is small, choking on the shock of what this means. "Mutiny."


	16. Unexpected Allies

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Hunger Games or any of its characters. These belong to Suzanne Collins.**_

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"This isn't what we agreed upon," Plutarch says on the other end of the line. "Don't make this more difficult than it has to be." He makes no attempt to hide his frustration.

"I don't care what your plan was before! We aren't leaving all of these people here. If you don't get more hovercrafts to evacuate all of District 12 then we're not leaving," I tell him firmly. It only took a few minutes for me to realize what I had agreed to when I told him we'd leave. We'd be abandoning the rest of the district. They'd be left to fend for themselves. Peeta and I both decided that unless they take us all we aren't leaving. Needless to say, Plutarch is not happy.

"Katniss, be reasonable. What about Alex?" he tries. I've already thought about that. Alexander is staying with us. We considered sending him on the hovercraft and having him dropped off with my mother or Annie but quickly decided against it. He is safer here with us than he would be with strangers.

"What about the hundreds of people that will be left behind? You're just going to leave them to be taken hostage?" For some reason this doesn't surprise me. Not just Plutarch's refusal to evacuate the whole district but the fact that this is happening again. I, of course, mean little to the country at this point. Peeta and I do yearly specials as a favor to Plutarch to keep up the spirits of the citizens but other than that I'm fairly sure no one cares about me anymore.

"Katniss," Peeta calls my name urgently. It does little to deflect the string of profanities that I continue to yell into the phone. "Katniss!" he says again loudly. He's at my side now and though he waits for my attention I look right through him to Alexander who is sitting on Haymitchs lap at the dinner table covering his tiny ears with his tiny hands. Peeta doesn't have to say anything else. I take a deep breath to calm myself so I can stop scaring my child and hand the phone to my husband. Peeta takes over the negotiations.

I walk to Haymitch and reach for Alexander. He comes to me without hesitation and buries his face into me.

"What's the plan _Mockingjay_?" Haymitch says with a laugh and I have to roll my eyes and hold in my own amusement at the name. How preposterous to think that I would be called into action as some symbol of strength. I'm just a wife and mother living quietly in the outskirts of town.

"We can't just leave everyone," I reiterate again. Alexander is warm in my arms and the smell of his wet diaper reminds me to take a minute to be a mother. I take him to the living room and quickly change him. Haymitch follows behind me.

"I know what you are doing and I think it's very…honorable," he settles. "But this isn't five years ago. We have to think of this little guy now," he says taking Alex from my arms. "Why don't you three go? I'll stay here, hold down the fort."

"Oh, shut up, Haymitch," I tell him. Like we'd leave Alexander's precious Papa behind. He can barely go twenty minutes without demanding to know where he is. He is more a part of this family now than I ever imagined he'd be.

"You can go to hell then!" Peeta screams into the phone from the kitchen. Haymitch and I both look at each other.

"Guess we're all staying then," Haymitch says in surrender.

Peeta is sitting at the dinner table now with his face buried in his hands. I can see the frustration emanating from him. "What is it?" I ask.

He looks up at me to speak then stops when he sees Haymitch and Alex behind me.

"Can you take him upstairs?" he asks Haymitch. He complies, simply walking away needing no further instruction.

I sit next to Peeta and take his hand into mine. "What is it?" I ask again.

He lets out a deep exhale of annoyance. "They aren't going to send more hovercrafts. They only intended for the three of us to go." He looks up at me then. I mistake his pause for the expectance of a reaction when I begin to speak.

"Haymitch will be on our side whatever we deci-," he cuts me off.

"The three of us," he says again more sternly. "As in me, you, and Alex. They don't even have room for Haymitch."

It sinks in for the first time now. There is a war coming to us and our government now is inherently more disappointing than the one before. At least Snow's administration was upfront about what they were doing. You never had to guess what kind of decisions they'd make because they were beyond predictable. But this? This is deplorable. Plutarch thinks they can just pick and choose who should be saved and who should be left to defend themselves. I'm not leaving my district. Last time I did that the whole town was leveled, hundreds killed.

We don't even know how bad it is. Surely our government can't be stupid enough to put all of its military tactics in the hand of one man. They can't be that dumb, can they? A system of checks and balances must have been created. If not, then there'd be nothing to stop Atkins and Bartlett. They could go from district to district clobbering whole towns if they wanted. With no one equipped to fight back. But, of course, they don't intend to go from district to district. They only need control over one district to have control over all of Panem. District 12. My district. If they get their hands on our coal mines then they will control all of the energy.

How far are they willing to go to seize power from our government? They started a fire in a square. Who cares? One fire is not a revolution. Are they prepared to kill people? Who will they go to first? Our Mayor Faulkner? Will they come to me? Do they think that I have any power left to yield?

"What should we do?" I finally ask Peeta.

"Call Faulkner I guess. See if he's heard anything." I don't get the chance to call our Mayor because we hear the familiar sound of a stealth hovercraft parking in our back yard. Peeta and I run out of the house just in time to see the Mayor getting ready to boarding the vehicle. A man in a black combat suit approaches us.

He yells over the engine. "Are you coming or not?" I push him out of the way and run to the Mayor.

"You're leaving?" I yell to Faulkner. "How can you leave?"

I see the shame wash over him as his young daughter clings to his leg. "This is going to get ugly, Katniss. Come with us. Don't be stubborn."

"No," I say firmly. "We're not cowards. We won't run."

"You don't know what you're saying!" he spits at me. "District 12's military has already begun making threats. They're missiles have been locked and loaded, pointing to town square since this morning. There is no hope for District 12, get that through your stubborn head!"

The severity of his words cut me deeply. Our military base has already been compromised. We have no one left to defend us and our only hope is running away.

"Mayor!" The man in the black suit yells. "We have to go. Now!" he screams over the loud engine. Mayor Faulkner gives Peeta and me one last pleading look before boarding the hovercraft. When it flies away we are left standing in the heap of what was supposed to be our son's first playground. How quickly the trajectory of life can change from one moment to the next.

I feel a panic rising in my chest. Am I crazy? I had the chance to get my husband and my son to safety but instead I've chosen to put them directly into harm's way. The sense of urgency for action hangs in the air but I stand crippled by my laxity. Peeta watches me, as if trying to decide how he'll talk me off of this ledge. He pulls me into his arms and speaks sternly.

"We did the right thing, Katniss. We would never forgive ourselves if we left. You know that," he says confidently. "It's going to be okay." He puts his lips to mine then and for a moment I do feel okay. Because no matter what chaos is going on around me I find solitude and safety in my husband's embrace. I find meaning and calmness in his body, pressed up against mine, his hands holding me tightly, an encasement of protection and promise of unyielding love. I kiss him back without hesitation.

Peeta pulls me back into the house where Haymitch is waiting for us. "Now what?" he asks.

"We need a plan," Peeta says. They both look at me expectantly.

"We have to figure out what Atkins and Bartlett are willing to do to gain control over this district. They have a missile pointed at the town square, but will they really use it? They can't destroy the town when they need its resources." I contemplate. It's amazing how quickly my mind goes into survival mode. It's as if the last five years never happened. It's as if I'm in a new arena of death but this time I'm ten times wiser. Ten times more prepared. But also, I have to admit, ten times more vulnerable because it's not just Peeta who I have to keep alive now. It's Alexander too. Even more…it's our whole district. "We could get the town into the victor houses. They'll be easier to defend if they're condensed into one area," I tell them. "We could call Thom," I tell Peeta, "tell him to get the miners together and gather everyone up. We should be able to fit everyone in our three houses combined. It'll be crowded but we could do it. Then we can split up, Peeta, you can man your house, I'll stay here and Haymitch, you can defend your property."

"Katniss, you're forgetting one very important detail," Peeta says. "Besides your bows, we don't have any weapons to defend all of these people."

Haymitch steps forward then. "I think I can help with that."

"What do you mean?" I ask him.

"Follow me," he says as he leaves our house. We walk into his home which is much more pleasant now than it used to be. Besides that fact that he's baby proofed it far more than necessary it's spotlessly clean. He doesn't even have a maid, he does it all himself. Sobriety, who would of thought? He explains on the walk that my plan won't work because they'll have no problem bombing the victor houses. They are nowhere near the mines. "Down here," he says. We follow him into the basement from a small door through the kitchen. There isn't anything down here since Haymitch doesn't actually have any possessions worth storing.

He lifts a panel in the floorboard which reveals a steel trap door. There is a keypad sitting on top which comes to life when he begins punching numbers into it. "43681," he tells us. "Remember that, 43681."

"43681!" Alexander yells.

"Oh, great," Haymitch says under his breath. He pulls his fingers to his lips. "Shh," he tells Alexander, "it's a secret, okay?"

"43681!" Alexander yells again. Haymitch lets it go for now.

The door opens and leads down a small metal stair case. We follow him down into it and are lead to another steel door. He covers Alexander's ears this time. "58921," he says once. He puts the combination into the keypad and what we are met with is a shock to both Peeta and I.

As the door opens the lights flick to life via censor. It has to be a full two minutes before all of the lights come to life because the room we are met with has to be 300 yards squared. There are large freezers lining each of the walls. Metal crates are stacked from floor to ceiling sitting next to shelving units that are equipped with cans and other nonperishables. In different intervals we can see other doors just like this one. It doesn't take long to realize that that they are spaced out evenly to align with the 11 other victor houses that sit atop of us. Peeta puts Alexander down and he goes running as fast as he can, waving his hands and yelling, "43681" into the open space.

"What is this place?" I finally ask.

"Is this a bomb shelter?" Peeta asks.

"Technically, yes," Haymitch says. "More specifically it's a hideout. Your boy told me about this place when we moved back here. Apparently Snow created these bomb shelters in case any uprisings were started government officials had places to stay no matter what district they got caught in."

"My boy?" I ask, caught on his first words.

"Gale," he says impatiently. "He got clearance to these blueprints once they hired him so he sent me a letter telling me about it. In case… we needed to protect ourselves."

"Gale?" I repeat again, dumbfounded. I haven't spoken or hardly even thought of Gale since I absolved myself from him at my mother's house. When Haymitch and I came back I thought that Gale completely abandoned me. I had no idea he had left instructions for Haymitch to keep me safe if it ever came down to it. I guess Gale and I will never stop being allies. Even if we do live in different worlds now.

"Weapons?" Peeta brings us back.

"Yeah, I'm getting to that," Haymitch says. He walks us over to the only door that isn't actually a door rather a vault. "This door is only meant to be opened by government officials. Ten to be exactly. Each containing a piece of the ten digit combination needed to enter it. Lucky for me, I have that combination," he says with a sly smile. He enters the combination, twists the circular knob and the door decompresses loudly before opening.

What's inside of it is a shock to all of us though it is obvious Haymitch has been in here before. The room is probably 100 square meters in total and there are cases upon cases of vintage rocket launchers, rifles, hand guns, chemical vial tubing…there's even an antique cannon in the far corner.

"This stuff is old. Really old," Peeta says, lifting a shotgun from a case.

"Yeah, well, no one thought much of old District 12 so instead of equipping this place with state of the art machinery we got stuck with 20th century bullshit," he tells us.

"It doesn't matter," I say. "If they can shoot, then they'll do." I look over to Peeta who is still examining the ancient shotgun. "Will you get Alex?" I ask him.

He gently puts the gun down and leaves the vault. I face Haymitch.

"Here we go," he says in anticipation of my conversation.

"You know how this is going to go down," I tell him, rather than ask.

"I don't know, sweetheart," he says. I cringe at the memory of his condescending pet name for me. "It's not going to be that easy to keep him out of the fight if it comes down to it. It never was, if you recall."

"You keep them alive, no matter what."

"And what about you?" he asks. "What will you be doing?"

"I'm going to do what I should have done five years ago."

"And that is?" he asks.

I find a box full of mechanical bow and arrows with more ammo than I could have ever hoped for. I take out a bow and test the release mechanisms. When it snaps into place as if it was just built yesterday I smile. "I'm going to save District 12."


	17. Of Pregnancy and Retribution

Hi Everyone! Many thanks to those of you who have stuck with me throughout this story. I literally thought it was going to be one chapter and now here I am on number 17. Hope you enjoy this one!

_**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or any of it's characters. These belong to Suzanne Collins.**_

* * *

Thom and Peeta did a great job of gathering most of the townspeople into the bomb shelter. There wasn't a whole lot of convincing needed since apparently while we were making plans the District 12 Army began making armed rounds. They slipped them in through the far end of our village, little by little, late in the evening. I don't know if the guards here are too cocky or too stupid but either way they ended patrols early. They must have thought that now that Peeta and I are parents and have been seemingly abandoned by the Capital that we'd all follow them like sheep. Not a chance.

I'm sitting outside of the vault, my back up against the wall, while Haymitch helps get everyone settled in their instructed areas. The space filled up quickly, far more quickly than I thought it would but I can't deny how quickly this district has grown. I hold Alexander's sleeping body in my hands and watch his breath rise and fall. I run my finger tip around his chubby cheek and take in the smell of his magnificence. It's late when Peeta finally makes it over to us. He sits next to me and reaches for Alex but I squeeze him tighter and tell him firmly, "no."

He laughs and it's the brightest moment of the day.

I know the exact night that I got pregnant. Peeta and I had been trying for about a year and we were both frustrated. Me more vocally than him, which was ironic considering he was the one that had essentially initiated this whole getting pregnant idea...ironic though not surprising. After all, he is the one who's always been best about putting on a brave face. It was a quiet Saturday night in town and he had been at the bakery all day. I was happy to have the house to myself because there was some seriously neglected cleaning to get done.

You'd think that since most of the rooms in our house are unoccupied it wouldn't be that big of a job. Wrong. Dust settles on everything, in every room, in every crevice. And I don't know what it is about artists in general or if it's just Peeta but oil paint is a real nightmare to clean. It's in the sinks, the carpet; I even find it on the walls. I mean really, how hard is it to clean your brushes before you thrown them about the house? And of course if they aren't cleaned right away they get ruined.

After I cleaned the house top to bottom I took a long bath which I do every night. Only this time when I got out Peeta still wasn't home yet. I resolved myself to get dressed and go see what the holdup was. When I arrived at the bakery he was working at the front counter. I watched him through the glass display case. His hair was a little longer than usual and kept falling into his eyes. He tried, unsuccessfully, to shake it out of his way. His fingers worked slowly and meticulously as he frosted a two tier birthday cake for Greasy Sae's granddaughter. There was going to be a big party the next day for her and the whole town was going to come.

I don't know how long I'd been watching him before he finally saw me. His eyes peered up at me through the shag of his curls and a small smile danced on his lips. I don't know if he smiled because he was pleased to see me. Or maybe because he knew I'd come find him. Either way, the joy emanating from him at the sight of me is still an emotion I long to understand. His eyes flitted back down to the work at hand and he left me to my voyeuristic intrigue. Finally, I pushed through the glass door, the bell above it jingling indicating a new customer has arrived.

"Mrs. Mellark," he said not taking his eyes off his creation.

I came to tell him to come home already. I missed him all day. I was ready to lie down and hold him close to me. I came to tell him that in his absence the vast emptiness of our home is nearly unbearable. But I lost my voice. It's like when you see something so beautiful that you're rendered speechless. You want to yell and laugh and cry all at the same time. You want to share the simplistic beauty with everyone you love but you can't. Because you know that to try to vocalize that beauty would be to destroy it. Some things are better left unsaid. Some things are unworthy of mere words.

This feeling is not an uncommon one, though rare. I see him every day, sometimes he's the _only_ one I see all day. But still, for some reason, there are times when I see him across a room and I can't believe how lucky I am. I watch him squeeze the pale pink icing from its bag. He applies it in perfectly shaped roses around the bottom tier rim with such precision it literally creates a feeling of jealousy in me. I want his fingers to knead my body that way. I want to feel his hands move slowly and meticulously over me.

I'm lucky because he's just applying the last rose before the cake is finished when the overwhelming feeling of want and need take over my mind. He sets the bag of frosting down and I finally cross the bakery to him.

"Good timing. I was just - ," he starts but my lips end his sentence prematurely. I feel his lips stretched into a smile under mine but it doesn't deter the task at hand. He gives in and kisses me back. He lips form to mine and they taste of sweet icing and raw batter. I slip my tongue into his mouth for a fraction of a second and he laughs, pulling away and checking the front window for any spectators.

I lean in again but he stops me, his brow furrowing in confusion at my public advances. He allows me to wrap my arms around his neck and places soft kisses just under his ear. "Take me home," I whisper.

I don't have to ask twice. He puts the cake away for the party, sloppily dumps his used bowls, spoons, measuring cups and whatever else is covered in cake and icing into the sink and walks me outside. He doesn't try to make small talk on the way back. Instead his holds my hand and pulls me through the town quickly.

When we make it to the front door he pulls out his keys to unlock it. I can hardly stand it anymore. I stand in front of him and kiss every surface of his skin that I can get to. His cheeks, his neck, his collar bone, his fingertips. He drops the keys once and I take this chance to kiss his lips. He leans up against me, pushing me into the door and wraps his arms tightly around me no longer able to contain the need he feels for me. We kiss for a long time, hungrily, while our fingers find each other's bodies. My hand slides up the front of his shirt, his up the back of mine. Soft but urgent moans escape my lips until it becomes too much. We have to take this inside. I wiggle away and find the keys on the doormat. I turn from him and towards the door and immediately his lips are on the back of my neck, his hand up the front of my shirt, his tongue sliding along my skin.

When the door finally breaks open we stumble into the house. He already has my shirt above my head before the door is shut. My fingers find his belt buckle and I quickly start to undress him as well. I don't know how we make it up to our bedroom but we do. My body is beyond ready for him but he hesitates. Once I'm fully unclothed, under our sheets, frantically trying to pull him on top of me he holds back. His eyes find mine and he smiles, amused. Or maybe captivated. My chest is rising and falling rapidly as I try to catch my breath. Slowly I regain control, but just as I do, his lips find the hollow of my neck. His fingers dig into my hips and I lose it all over again. I try to reach and caress his body but after a few minutes of him exploring my body I give up the fight. He clearly has his own agenda in mind.

I wrap my legs around his hips the first chance I get but he still makes me wait. His eyes have lost that captivated look and in its place, unadulterated determination. Finally, he slides easily into my eager body and it's both an immense feeling of relief and a colossal rejuvenation of what my body craves. I don't try to be quiet. I say his name, I tell him I love him and when I can't find the words I simply moan into the night.

It's not that this time was very different from other times. It's that the feeling was different. It's like some biological pheromone in me was activated and I knew, more than ever before, that the love that I had for this man could only be expressed in this way. It could only be alive as his body caroused in and out of mine. It could only be expressed by the way our lips refused to let each other's go. It could only be conveyed in the rhythm of our bodies sliding up and down, forward and back, in and out, in and out, in and out over and over again.

And when I finally got to that point of ecstasy, where every nerve ending in my body came alive, where the rising desperation from within starts in the very tip of my toes through my legs into my abdomen, up my spine until my brain gives up complete control to physical sensations, I knew that this was it. _This_ is how babies are made. When our love cannot be physically contained in a word and it fills every cell in my body and every cell in his body where we feel more alive than ever before, _this_ is how babies are made.

"Katniss," Peeta interrupts my thoughts. I had almost forgotten he was sitting next to me. "You're not planning anything stupid are you?"

"Me?" I ask innocently. "Never."

He doesn't laugh now, but only gives me a stern disapproving look.

We hear the commotion across the bomb shelter but can't tell what it's about. Clearly something has happened at the far end door, the door that leads to the last victor house on the tract. I gently hand Alexander to Haymitch and follow Peeta as we move towards the crowd that's gathering. There are shocked reactions but no one seems scared so I slow down as I think I can make out the figure that has just entered the room.

"You're here!" the crowd shouts.

"You came back."

"We knew you'd come back," the voices say in different variations.

Then I know for certain. The crowd parts, Peeta and I break through and there he is. Gale. Peeta continues his path, not stopping at seeing him. I see his arm pull back, his fist already formed, and before I can stop him his right hand connects to the left side of Gale's jaw. The crowd around us yells for Peeta to stop but he has already said his part. He steadies his stance and waits for Gale to fight back, yell, anything.

Gale slowly rises to his feet, rubbing his jaw. He is thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head as if dismissing an idea. The crowd and I wait in anxiety for someone to speak. Finally, it's Gale. He looks at Peeta, straight in the eye, and says all that he can, all the retribution that Peeta deserves. "Fair enough."


	18. Transitions

_Hello everyone! I know, its been forever. I was just rereading my old story in anticipation for the movie coming out next week and realized I had a partially written chapter I never published, so I figured might as well share it! I would start writing again if I wasn't buried in graduate school. Earning a masters degree leaves little time for writing for fun. But I have every intention of coming back when I am done at the end of this year._

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters. These belong to Suzanne Collins._

* * *

I realize I should be paying more attention but my mind is in different stages of disbelief. I watch Peeta and Gale as they map out different plans of execution across from me. Alex is right there in between them which makes this even more surreal. He's already taken a liking to Gale. I suppose I should have expected as much. I mean, how intrinsically linked to Gale was I myself? Of course my own blood would pick up on this. But that's not the surreal part. The surreal part is the way in which Peeta seems to have no problem with Gale interacting with Alex. They've already spent the better part of the morning huddled together talking snares and insects, Alex's latest obsession.

I will never understand men. Is a punch in the face all it takes to wipe away the fact that Gale made a move on me? Is the harm so easily forgiven with a single, controlled act of violence? Well, whatever. I'm glad that Peeta has as much patience as he has because people around here were seriously on edge for the first few hours after Gale arrived. Now, everyone seems to be at ease. I'd venture to say, even in good spirits. Though, Alex seems to help with this. He's got his father's people skills, that's for sure. He moves from group to group putting on shows that range from singing and dancing to demanding answers to the most innocuous questions. He's a good distraction for all of us.

When they break up their meeting Peeta goes off to grab Alexander. Gale slowly makes his way over to me. We haven't spoken since he arrived.

He tousles my hair. "Catnip," he says with a smile. It's all wrong. His voice, his smile. This isn't the person I knew. This is a man I've never known before.

"Hi," I say. I wonder if he thinks the same about me. Am I as different to him as he is to me? "Why are you here?" I ask him.

"I wanted someone on my side who I know would have my back," he says with confidence. I narrow my eyes at him. How presumptuous for him to think that I'd just drop everything and fight with him. He's right … but still. "I mean Peeta, of course," he adds and I can't help but laugh.

There is no romantic tension between us. Those feelings were washed away years and years ago. There's some other feeling tugging on my sub conscience that I can't place. How can he still do this to me? I suppose it's a hunter thing. There is an undeniable connection that a hunter has with their kill. You can never shake the feeling of taking a life - whether it's an animal or a person, which I unfortunately have far too much experience with. But even more than that there is an undeniable connection that a hunter has with their hunting mate. It's not unlike a marriage, I suppose. The way that Peeta is always watching out for me, the way I feel safe when he's with me regardless of the situation. It's an inherent knowledge that manifests itself as a feeling. Because Gale is here I'm ten times more ready to fight. Because we know each other. We know each other in a way that no other people can understand us. We can hear each other's heart beats from a mile way. I could know the sound his steps make even with five years between us. No, it is not unlike a marriage. It is a connection that is linked by a physiological need to survive and so it never fades. It only grows stronger the older we get, as the need to sustain becomes stronger.

Peeta and Alexander make their way back to us and I only notice the way my body has become angled towards Gale when Peeta's eyes move quickly between the two of us. I walk toward Alexander and try to pick him up. He dodges me and runs away.

"Alexander!" I yell but he's already jumping into Haymitchs' lap. Haymitch, Alex and Peeta have some boy's club mentality that I'm frequently left out of. No, I will never understand men.


End file.
